A Singular Woman
by Jenz127
Summary: Chapter 21 and epilogue up! Please read and review! The end of my rather mammoth story...a little sad, but only a little! Elisabeth's POV on 'The Illustrious client' and events after!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer - I do not own any of the 'Sherlock Holmes' characters that you recognise. They belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I do, however own all the unrecognisable characters!

A Singular Woman…

Chapter 1

My name is Elisabeth Hardy. I live in Africa, in the North of Kenya, on a game reserve, although we're leaving soon. My parents brought us out here when we were small. They wanted to get us away from the ideals and values of the England ruled by Victoria I. An England that believes that women should be shy, retiring and demure. That they should be ruled over by their fathers, brothers, husbands. I am happy to say that I consider myself to be the exact opposite of that.

In Africa, we can be ourselves. My mother has taught me to stand up for what I believe in, to be ladylike but strong. At the same time, my father taught me in the same things he taught my two older brothers - to ride, fight and shoot - all things which are usually associated with men folk back in England. In Africa, I can be free - speak for myself, run off to places by myself, and do such things that might be frowned upon in England. But now we are to leave my beloved Africa and return to England, all because of a horrible tragedy that has befallen us. 

My parents, who taught me so much are dead. They died a month ago. They were both vets, tending to a herd of buffalo, when a tourist decided to squeal to her friend about them. This caused a stampede that crushed my dear mother and father to death. My brothers and I narrowly escaped with our lives. Now we are recalled to England by my aunt and uncle, something my brothers and I are not pleased about. 

My brothers are John, who is twenty-five and Paul, who is twenty-three. Both are more than old enough to look after me, a nineteen-year-old woman, although I am sure I do not need to be looked after. However, my aunt and uncle insist that we all move back to England. There, apparently, my brothers will stay at the manor house, where they will learn to be country gentlemen, and I will go to London, to stay with my godfather, who is widely believed to be the oddest man in all of London.

I am sent to London to improve my etiquette, my deportment and ultimately, to find a husband. How I hate this! Here, I can run wild and free and not worry about how I look or my actions. But in that great smoggy, smoky city, I shall have to be on the look out for a wealthy husband - the last thing I should ever wish for.

My godfather should also be another interesting factor in this tale. His name is Mycroft Holmes. He is a renowned misogynist, which will mean that I will get virtually no freedom at all. I cannot think why my mother and father would choose such a man as my godfather. On the positive side, I have heard that his younger brother is the young detective, Sherlock Holmes. Although a man of only twenty-five, he and his colleague, Dr. John Watson have solved many of the most baffling cases in the history of crime. Hopefully, I may have, at least, some adventure in the time that I am in London.

All my bags are packed and I hear the sound of the people waiting outside. Paul calls me and we all take our bags down to be packed onto our horses, and packhorses. I get on mine first, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. I do so love Africa. It has given me a freedom in life which not many other girls can boast of. I look over and wave goodbye to all of our friends. My brothers get onto their horses, and walk them to stand beside me. Our African housekeeper comes up to us. She is crying dreadfully "Goodbye, my little triplets". Of course, we are not really triplets. We are called so because we look similar. We all have the same dark brown, wavy hair, although mine reaches down my back, whereas the boys' obviously doesn't. We all have the same deep blue eyes, my mother's eyes. We are all tall, although my brothers are taller than me, and athletic. That is where the similarities end.

Paul is much more muscular than John, as he played rugby often with my father and the African men they taught the game to. John is fit as well, but much more studious. In an ideal world, he would wish to train as a doctor, but we all know that our aunt and uncle definitely would not approve. They wish both of my brothers to become fine, English gentlemen, and to marry good, upstanding women, perfect women. Women so unlike myself. Perhaps I will marry when I am in England, but I am determined that if I cannot find a man to love me for who I am, I will live and die a spinster. 

We turn the horses away from the lodge, and my brothers and I lean back, waving at our friends and desperately praying that we would not have to leave. 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer - Yep, again, I own nothing. Apart from Elisabeth - lucky, lucky me ;)

Chapter 2

We have arrived in England. Our ship docked in Portsmouth this morning and we made the seven hour carriage journey to Devon soon after that. We could have taken the train, of course, but our kind relatives decided that they wanted us to see England 'in the way it should be seen'. I glanced at my brothers during our journey and could tell that they, like me, wished we were back in Africa.

We reached Sevenacres (our Aunt and Uncle's country mansion) shortly after six o'clock in the evening. It is an immense house and estate, with acres and acres of parkland and a beach nearby. But it seems so alien, so strange to the three of us. We dressed in our best clothes this morning. We are not in mourning dress anymore, as it has been more or less six months since the deaths of our parents. My brothers wore suits, whilst I wore a green and dusky pink dress, one of the only dresses I owned. In Africa, my parents allowed me to run around with my brothers, in boy's clothing. We all knew that our aunt, uncle and cousins would not like our attire, but the clothes we were wearing were the best sets of clothes we had. 

The three of us got out of the carriage and knocked on the large front door. A butler answered and took us into the lounge, where our relatives were waiting for us. Although they greeted us politely enough, I could tell that they did not approve of us. My aunt came forward and tested the fabric on the sleeve of my dress between her fingers. "Well," she said "This is not the sort of thing you can wear in London". She motioned to my cousins, Katherine and Mary. "The girls will give you some of the dresses they do not wear anymore". The girls smiled at me and nodded. They looked unsettlingly like identical twins, those two, with the same lavender eyes, pink, round faces, and ringlets of blonde hair. As I had been taught to, I curtseyed to my aunt, and thanked her for her kindness. My uncle stepped forward "You will travel to London tomorrow on the two o'clock train and will be met by your godfather. Pack up a trunk of dresses and anything else you require." I nodded and followed my cousins up the stairs.

My cousins seemed very nice girls. They asked me about Africa, and gave me dresses for walking, everyday and parties, as well as riding. They also gave me a couple of capes and some shoes. The butler took a now full trunk downstairs. However, among the dresses, I had managed to sneak a couple of sets of men's clothing - just in case.

That evening, we sat together to eat dinner. The food seemed stodgy and hard. The table was laden down with food, most of which would be left over as waste at the end of the meal. I felt a flash of anger at that. In Africa, we had seen villages full of starving people, starving children. The waste from the table would have fed one of these villages for a week. I saw John's eyes widen at the sight of the food on the table. We had been used to a diet of fruit, what we called 'wild meat' (snake, goat or such) and bread. We had never eaten any of the desserts placed in front of us or meats like beef and venison. We all ate much less than our hosts. 

After dinner, we all went back into the lounge, where Katherine and Mary set about trying to teach me embroidery. It was not an easy task, but in the end, I managed to produce a rather shaky, but I thought, quite recognisable picture of a horse. Paul teased me, saying that it looked more like an elephant. My aunt and cousins gasped, as if fearing that I should burst into tears at such criticism, but I laughed, saying that my horse looked did not look as much like an elephant as Paul did.

Next, Katherine stepped up to the piano, to play some Mozart. My aunt, obviously believing us to all be ignorant of music, and not knowing what a piano was explained the way in which the instrument worked. Paul quickly informed her that we had all been taught to play the piano by our mother, at which our aunt sank back into her chair, looking rather put out. After Katherine had finished playing our aunt asked (our maybe challenged would be a better word) us all to play. After we produced some fairly accomplished Beethoven, Handel and Bach, as well as some of the new, fashionable which was all the rage in London, she allowed us to sit down. The rest of the night passed quite quietly, and in the end, we all made our ways to our bedrooms.

In the morning, we had another awfully indulgent meal (I just had fruit), and I went to pack my last belongings. After lunch, my uncle and brothers took me to the local station to wait for the train. As it pulled in, my uncle put my trunk onto the train and I suddenly felt a little frightened. I hugged both of my brothers and got onto the train, although the skirt of my dress did almost get in the way of that endeavour. 

As I waved to my brothers and the station moved out of sight, I realised how alone I felt. I decided to be brave, got out my book, and began to read. 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer - Yet again, I own nothing, apart from Elisabeth. 

Chapter 3

When the train pulled into the station, I heaved my trunk off the train and set about trying to find Mr Mycroft Holmes. After a couple of minutes on the platform, an older lady walked up to me. She had a face like a horse, grey hair tied up into a bun, and a black dress on. "You are Miss Elisabeth Hardy?" she asked

"Yes, madam" I answered.

"I am Miss Winterton, Mr. Mycroft's housekeeper" she signalled to the two young men who were with her to pick up my trunk. "If you would come with me, Miss". She led me out of the station and into a carriage. The two men attached my trunk to the roof, and the carriage moved off. London was an experience, to say the least. Devon was strange, but not unlike anywhere I had been before. But London! It was smoky, evil-smelling and noisy. However, the people were fascinating. There were rich men and poor men, ladies of wealth and ladies of the street, children, nannies and street urchins. There were so many different people that I could hardly take them all in. 

We reached a house in the centre of London which appeared to be split into two flats. The housekeeper started up the stairs to the top, bigger flat and let herself in. I followed, and the men with the trunk came behind. The flat seemed spacious and well decorated, done out in light colours. However, despite this, there was absolutely no doubt that this was a man's house. 

The housekeeper turned to me "Mr Mycroft wishes to see you before you settle in. His study is upstairs, first on the left". I nodded and walked up the stairs, past marble statuettes and pieces of art. I came to a large oak door and knocked twice. "Come in" said a voice. It was deep, but it seemed light-hearted. I twisted the door handle and entered. When I opened the door, I glanced around the room. There were books for as far as the eye could see, and strange artefacts in display cases. My gaze was drawn to Mycroft Holmes. He was, it seemed about ten of fifteen years older than his brother, maybe thirty-five or forty. He had white hair, which was unkempt, and wore glasses. His clothing was tidy, but not fashionable. He smiled at me and the smile seemed warm at least. "You must be Elisabeth" he said to me.

"Yes Sir" I answered.

"Well, I can see that you are close to your brothers, well educated and you are uncomfortable in that clothing". He must have seen my look of absolute astonishment, because he laughed. "My dear girl! I can see that you are close to your brothers because of the locket you wear, engraved with the word 'Sister'. You must be close to your brothers if you wear it even though it does not match with your dress". I smiled and Mycroft continued "You are well educated because I see that you have newsprint on your fingers. An uneducated person would more than likely not read a newspaper. You are uncomfortable because you have smoothed your dress at yeast eight times since you entered this room".

"Well Sir, you are right on all accounts".

"I was sorry to hear of the death of your parents but you are welcome to stay here as long as you wish to do so".

"Thank you sir"

Mycroft stood up and surveyed her. "Now, my dear. You must tell me about yourself. Do you speak any languages?"

"French, Italian, Spanish and some Afrikaans"

"And you play the piano?"

"Moderately"

"And you sew?"

"I can darn socks and do a little embroidery"

"Can you do anything else?"

"I can ride, sir, and shoot"

"Shoot?"

"Yes, sir"

Mycroft muttered to himself "Well, we needn't tell anyone of that…"

I spoke up "Are you trying to find me a husband?" Mycroft looked slightly surprised at my outspokenness. I continued feverishly "For I will not marry anyone who is forced upon me".

"Indeed?"

"Yes Sir"

"You are very much like your mother". I looked in surprise at Mycroft, but he was smiling, "she was also fiercely outspoken. And she was unique. Not like any of the women I have met in London. Not that I meet very many". He smiled "Now, my girl. Most days I will be in my club, across the road. What will you do?"

"I'll find something, I'm sure"

"Very well. Goodnight, Miss Hardy."

"Goodnight, sir"

And so, I spent three weeks thoroughly bored. I had never realised how little there was to do in London without a chaperone. I spent a lot of time at art galleries and museums, places where it was not frowned upon for a young, unmarried and unengaged woman to be out alone. I saw Mycroft Holmes very little. He was often at his club, the Diogenes Club, apparently a club where the oddest and most unsociable men in London were members. In comparison, despite the fact I had never met him, I heard a lot about his brother. He had solved many cases - ones which involved red-headed men and resident patients. Mycroft spoke little of his younger brother, and I had the distinct impression that he was a little jealous of him. 

One summer morning, I joined Mycroft for breakfast. "Elisabeth?" he said, in between mouthfuls.

"Mr Holmes?"

"Will you accompany me to my brother's flat today?"

"Of course, sir, but why?

"I remember rightly, do I not, that you speak Spanish?" I nodded "Well, my brother, Dr Watson and myself desire an interpreter. We will go this morning".

-  
Ok, I'm going off the canon slightly now! Basically, the whole time frame is more along the lines of the Jeremy Brett TV show. The cases aren't in canon order either. Mycroft Holmes, Mrs Hudson, Dr Watson and Sherlock Holmes, when I'm writing them are from the Granada TV series. In this story, David Burke is Dr Watson, and Holmes is a little younger than he is in canon. 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer - I am a poor student. I own nothing.

Chapter 4

After breakfast, I made my way to my room and got changed into one of the less fussy dresses that my cousins had provided me with. I heard Mycroft calling me and followed him to the door. We got into a cab that he hailed and set out to 221B Baker Street.

We reached the house and Mycroft rapped on the door. An old woman answered it. She had grey hair and looked rushed off her feet. She held a tray of tea and almost dropped it as we came in. I managed to catch it before the cups and teapot could shatter. The old lady beamed at me. She had a kind face and introduced herself as Mr Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson's landlady, Mrs Hudson. I gave the tray back to her and followed her and Mycroft up the stairs. We reached a door and Mrs Hudson knocked before entering. The room was small and a little cramped. It was quite tidy but there was the distinctive smell of tobacco in the room. As we entered, three men stood. One had dark looks about him and was obviously Spanish. There was a shorter man, of about my height, who was also quite stocky. He wore a grey suit and had gingery blond hair and a moustache. He had very kind eyes and smiled at me warmly. I took this to be Dr Watson. The third man was Mr Sherlock Holmes. He was tall, six foot or more, angular and thin. He had slicked-back black hair and was clean shaven and quite pale. He had grey eyes and wore a black suit with a fashionable frock-coat.

He looked at me, a little puzzled. "You did not tell me that your interpreter was a girl, Mycroft".

I was a little angry at this remark. What right had he to make assumptions about me because of my age? I answered coldly "If you have another interpreter, Mr Holmes, I am perfectly happy to go home".

Holmes raised an eyebrow at this, but had the grace to look a little ashamed for an instant. I could tell though that he found me a little unorthodox. I saw Mycroft and Watson exchanging amused glances. My host had obviously told Watson about me, but not his brother. Holmes spoke up "No. I need you to ask this man some questions". I nodded. "This, by the way," said Holmes "is my friend and colleague Dr Watson". Watson shook my hand and smiled at me. I resolved that I liked this man. His friendliness did not seem patronising. 

Holmes was very eccentric. His body language was over-blown and he was obviously terribly enthusiastic about his work. I must admit that he fascinated me. Holmes looked at me "will you interpret.  
I nodded "Very well"

"Ask him his name"

I turned to the Spanish man "Buenos Dias, Señor. Como te llamas?"

"Me llamo Adár. Fernando Adár"

Holmes nodded "Ask him what he wants"

I did, and the next 45 minutes were taken up with questions from the three men, answers from the Spanish gentleman and interpretations from me. It happened that Mr Adár was from Malaga. He had been staying with his long-lost elder brother for three weeks before the man's wife had disappeared, seemingly into thin air. The lady had been having arguments with her husband, and her body was found, a day later, three miles from the house. Later that day, the man's daughter, Elena, who was just fifteen, had disappeared and had not been seen since. After the story was finished, Holmes looked up. "It becomes clear to me that we must go to the house. The child might yet still be alive."

"Everything points to the brother then" said Watson.

Fernando started to talk in Spanish. I translated "Mr Adár says that his brother has never denied having anything to do with his wife, and now his daughter's disappearance".

Holmes nodded "Mycroft, you stay here with Mr Adár." He turned to me, "Miss Hardy, we may need an interpreter". I nodded and followed him out. Dr Watson came out behind me and helped me into the cab that Holmes had hailed. "Runton House" Holmes cried up to the driver, and the cab sped off, into the countryside. As I looked out of the window, I saw smallholdings, farms, forests and animals passing by. As we came to the village of Runton, we passed a train station and a couple of shops. We carried on up the road for three miles until we came to Runton house. It was an unfriendly looking gothic mansion, covered in gargoyles and the like. 

We got out of the cab at the front of the house. We turned as we heard a cry. It was in English, but the accent was definitely Spanish "Get off my land" the man cried. He charged at Holmes, but did not strike him. Watson seemed concerned for my safety and positioned himself between the man and myself. 

"You are Mr Rodrigo Adár?" asked Holmes.

Adár bristled "Sí, and you are?" "My name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is my colleague Dr Watson"

"And the girl?" 

"She's a friend of ours. May we speak with you? Inside?". He soothed the man's temper.

Adár shrugged "If you must".

Adár still seemed a little angry, and I started to follow Holmes and Watson in, when Holmes took my hand "No" he said "wait here."

I scowled at him "Why?"

"Wait"

Before I could reply, Holmes and Watson had disappeared into the house. I waited a moment, and resolved to do my own hunting. I went round the back of the house, to the stables. Adár had some wonderful horses. I stroked the nose of a particularly beautiful white stallion. Suddenly, there was what sounded like an explosion from the back of the house. Smoke poured out of the house. I looked around, and after a minute, I saw Adár and a young girl jump into our cab. They started down the drive, and got about two hundred yards from the gates, before Holmes and Watson emerged from the other side of the house, following on bicycles. 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer - Yep, I don't own Sherlock Holmes or anyone else in the Conan Doyle novels. 

Thank you so much to people for reviewing - they're very gratefully received. Thanks for the advice! Also, contrary to the canon, I've added a few years onto Mycroft's age - I feel it makes him more of a father figure to Sherlock - which might effect Holmes later (Don't worry, Mycroft isn't really Holmes' father or anything - although that could be quite cool J)

Chapter 5

Well, I suppose you can't say that Holmes was not optimistic. The carriage went around a corner, followed slightly later by Holmes and Watson. However, I knew, as well as they did, that there was no way that they would be able to catch up with Adár.

I mounted the white horse that I had been stroking, and kicked it into a gallop, steering the horse over the grass to reach the steps. I looked round and saw to my amusement a footman or butler running out of the house and yelling at me to keep off the grass. I went through the gates, and then down the very long, straight road which led to the station. Holmes and Watson were no more than ten yards in front of me now, and were getting slower. Meanwhile, the carriage was drawing quickly away.

I urged the horse on, galloping it down the road. I sped off past Holmes and Watson at a great pace and came up directly behind the carriage. The noise of the wheels over the dirt track road, and the horses, meant that they did not hear me come up level to the carriage. Quickly, I bent down, and managed to somehow (and I will never know how to this day) wrench the wheel cap off the wheel, which fell off the carriage. There were cries from inside, as the carriage lost it's balance and pitched to one side. I cantered the horse past, stopping in front of the carriage, just in case Adár decided to try and get away. Holmes and Watson were closer now, but still not on the scene.

Adár got out of the carriage "You!" he cried "You unnatural little…" he started at me with a gun "I'll kill you for this!". He glanced behind, as if checking that the two men had not caught up yet, and I saw my chance. I kicked the gun from the man's hands and punched him in the stomach. Adár cried out and lunged at me, but I dodged out of the way, causing him to run straight past me. He threw a punch, and got the side of my face, breaking the skin a little with one of the rings that he wore, but I got hold of his arm and pulled, like my father had shown me, and he landed on his back.

Holmes and Watson reached the scene and got off their bicycles. They looked astonished at what they had seen. I ran with Watson to the coach. Inside was child, a girl of about fifteen, who I took to be Elena. We were just helping her out of the coach when I turned to see Adár running at me. All of a sudden, Holmes had stepped in between the man and myself and had knocked him out.

The three of us looked down at him, and recognised him, as the wig that he was wearing blew off. His long, curly hair was shorter and straight. Holmes reached down and removed from the man's face a false nose, and a strip of black hair between his eyebrows and from his top lip. "Fernando Adár?" asked Watson, in confusion.

"It is as I thought" said Holmes, arrogantly

"It would be" I murmured.

Watson heard and smiled fleetingly at me. I fancy Holmes heard too, but he did not say anything. Instead, with a quick scowl, he continued "He wanted to lure us into a trap. And, he is in love with his niece. I think, if we go back to the house, we will find the real Rodrigo Adár locked in some cupboard somewhere".

"But why?" I asked, not willing to believe that something of this magnitude could have an explanation so simple "Why would he want to draw attention to himself by asking you to visit him here. And, how on earth was he meant to get from London to Runton before us?"

"To your first question, I think we can safely assume that Fernando Adár had heard of my many successes, and wished to challenge me" I rolled my eyes "Miss Hardy, you have another solution?" he asked sarcastically. I sighed, frustrated, and shook my head. "To your second question," Holmes continued "the solution is easy. There is a train from London that gets into Runton ten minutes before we arrived in the village. All he would have to do is make his excuses to my brother and run to the station".

I nodded, and started to see where Holmes was leading us "So, he killed his sister-in-law in order to incriminate the brother -"

"Because people knew that she and his brother were arguing!" Watson finished.

Holmes clapped and we both turned to look at him. He was smiling, but not the sneer he wore before. He seemed a little more genuine this time "Well done".

Watson placed a hand on my arm "I am sorry for underestimating you, Miss Hardy".

I laughed "Thank you, doctor".

Holmes said nothing in agreement, but did smile at me quickly, before saying to the two of us "let's walk into the village and hand in this man…" he nudged Adár with his foot "And then go and help his brother".

We did all he said, and then travelled back to London together. Holmes seemed a little angry at Mycroft, as it had been, in his eyes anyway, his brother's fault that we had run into Fernando Adár at Runton. Watson and I had to break up the argument between the two brothers. In the end, Mycroft stormed out, dragging me after him. I looked over my shoulder and caught Watson's eye, as I was removed from the room.

The next day, a message came from Watson. It read 'Holmes and I would be greatly honoured if you would join us for lunch today at Baker Street. Dr J.H. Watson'. After this day, I was a frequent visitor to Baker Street, at Watson's and sometimes Holmes' request. I had a feeling that whilst Watson liked me, Holmes was a little wary of me, perhaps because I was so opinionated and forthright. Sometimes, he would be sarcastic, or even downright rude towards me, scolding me for not acting more in the way that he thought that a young woman should. Usually, this would be followed by a hour or two of us not talking to each other, whilst Watson tried to make conversation. However, I always knew that Holmes was sorry for his outburst when he caught my eye and smiled a little. When I was at Baker Street, Holmes always allowed me to help him in his cases, and most of the time go with him, and Dr. Watson to investigate.

When I told my brothers of our exploits, they were surprised, and not a little worried. When I talked of Holmes, they exchanged glances and Paul would tease me, asking me when wedding bells were due. I would answer never, and that I wasn't even sure that Holmes liked me, and, for that matter, if I particularly liked him. John and Paul would laugh, and once I swore I heard John whisper under his breath "methinks she does protest too much…"


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer - yada, yada, yada, yeah, I don't own Holmes. Shame really…

Nice long chapter for you…

OK, basically going more along the lines of the TV series here - although there is one major event…

Thank you for all the reviews and tips. After this one major event, I am going to be staying pretty much to canon, but I think I need to write aforementioned event to progress the relationship between Holmes and Elisabeth. Also, yes, she is becoming a little Mary Sue-ish isn't she? Will have to think of some major character flaws…

Chapter 6

One day, I was at Mr Holmes' house, sitting in the kitchen, talking to Mrs Hudson. I had only just got in and was heading upstairs, when the landlady had waylaid me. Suddenly, there was the sound of banging at the door, and Mrs Hudson got up and answered it. I stayed in the kitchen, eating some of Mrs Hudson's homemade cakes, which were delicious. I looked down the passageway, when Mrs Hudson opened the door and saw two men, wielding clubs. They pushed the door open, sending Mrs Hudson sprawling to the floor. I went to her side as the two men ran up the stairs. I heard shouting from the lounge.

"Go on" Mrs Hudson sat up "I'm alright". I nodded, and ran up the stairs to the first floor.

I ran through the door into the lounge to find Holmes and Watson standing opposite the two men, who looked just about ready to attack them. Everyone turned as I entered the room, and one of the thugs walked over to me, placing one hand forcefully on my shoulder. "Go downstairs, there's a good girl. This is no place for a woman". In answer, I kneed him in the groin, making him turn a very interesting shade of scarlet. Holmes laughed and he and Watson pushed both men into seats.

"As you can see, gentlemen" Watson said "Miss Hardy is no ordinary girl"

I grinned at him "Why thank you, Dr Watson".

Holmes turned to the men "Tell us your names, gentlemen, and who sent you".

The thug who I had kneed glared at me, obviously still in pain, and said "I am Rogers and this is Scrauss. We are sent by Professor James Moriarty". Neither Watson nor I had heard this name before, but as we glanced at Holmes, I think that we both perceived a glimmer of fear in those grey eyes. We exchanged worried glances, and looked back at the thugs. "Professor Moriarty," Rogers continued "bids that you, Mr Holmes, do not concern yourself with matters that do not affect you". Watson and I looked, confused, at one another.

Holmes, however, stiffened "Watson, read the letter which came for me today. It's on my desk.  
Watson walked up to the table and picked up the letter lying there. It was on plain white paper, but a crest could be clearly seen on the outside of the envelope, and on the top of the paper, when Watson removed the letter. The crest was that of the Diogenes Club. The letter read so: "My dear Sherlock, I must ask you to visit me at the Diogenes Club at two o'clock this afternoon. A case has arisen, and my friend, a member of the cabinet, wishes to have your guidance on the matter. Bring Watson and Elisabeth with you. They may be useful.  
Your brother, Mycroft"  
Watson looked up as he finished reading "A government matter, Holmes."

Holmes rounded on the thugs "Why should Moriarty have a hand in this affair?"

"Because" said Rogers nastily "He is the Napoleon of Crime. I warn you Holmes. Involve yourself in this matter and the professor will not take kindly to it" he looked over at Watson and myself "and it is not only you who will suffer."

"Get out!" said Holmes. He seemed quite terrifying suddenly, monstrously angry "And you may tell your master that I am not a man to be trifled with. He does not scare me".

The thugs got up, and started to walk to the door, when Rogers stopped and came to stand close to me. I saw Holmes start to my defence out of the corner of my eye, but I shook my head "And you," Rogers said to me "does the professor scare you? The things he could do to you…"

I looked Rogers straight in the eye "If you think that's going to scare me, then you've got another thing coming. I've never even heard of this Moriarty".

Rogers looked at Holmes and said "Ah, my girl. I have a feeling you soon will." He left the room, and Watson and I turned to Holmes.

"What's going on?"

"Who is this man?"

Holmes smiled at our curiosity, but his smile soon faded. "You see for yourselves how dangerous this matter is. I have to go, but you do not".

Watson shook his head "Holmes" he said. "You are not going to face this man on your own."

I nodded "I agree. You shouldn't go alone. We're coming with you."

Holmes surveyed us both, and then in a sudden rush of energy, ran into his room, and grabbed his coat and hat. "Come on then. To the Diogenes Club".

We grabbed coats, capes, hats and bonnets and hurried into a cab Holmes had hailed. He seemed quite recovered. "Who is this Moriarty?" I asked.

"He is the most dangerous man in London" Holmes answered "Nearly every crime that takes place in this city and even beyond, has it's roots in Moriarty's inner circle."

"Then how can we not have heard of him?" I pressed "If he is so infamous, why is he not talked of?"

"Moriarty is clever. His deeds, never his name are spoken of. The people who do know of him do not speak because of fear." I nodded, deciding not to press the issue of fear any further. I knew that I had seen abject fear in Holmes' eyes, as Watson had, but we both knew better than to draw attention to it. 

We drew up to the club and were met at the door by a porter. He was a little man, with wild grey hair, and a squeaky voice. As we were about to walk in, he said "No women allowed!"

Watson looked down at him "I'm sorry?"

"You may go in, but the lady may not"

"She's coming in" said Holmes, and I looked at him, a little surprised. This was the first time he had ever stood up for me. I shook my head, disbelievingly, and followed Holmes and Watson up the stairs.

"But-but-" stuttered the porter "there has not been a woman in the club since membership began in 1708"

"Well" I said, turning "it seems that you are long overdue a visit". I followed Holmes and Watson through the corridors of the Diogenes Club. We reached a solid, mahogany door, and Holmes opened it. Watson waved me in, and I followed Holmes into the room.

It was ornately decorated, with large pieces of furniture, and priceless artefacts dotted around the room. In two chairs by the fireplace were sitting two men. One was Mycroft and the other was a young man that I had not seen before. He was tall, and handsome, with dark hair and a moustache. They both stood when we entered the room. The young man greeted Holmes and Watson, shaking their hands, and then turned to me, picking up my hand and kissing it "Enchanted" he said. He seemed to me a very arrogant and obnoxious young man who seemed to know all too well how handsome he was. Holmes looked very unimpressed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him look at me, as if to see what my reaction would be. I pulled my hand from the man's grip and said politely, but coldly "Pleased to meet you". The young man looked completely astounded and walked away sheepishly, while I am sure that I saw a smirk playing around Holmes' mouth.

"Sherlock", said Mycroft, "This is Robert Northolt. He is the youngest member of the cabinet, and has been involved in the most terrible scandal".

We all looked expectantly at Northolt "This morning, I entered my office at ten o'clock, as I usually do, to find my office completely ransacked. Of course, my first concern was some government papers - very important papers - from the central security agency which were in the safe. They had disappeared, the safe door blown. The papers contained the name and address of every single spy in the service of the British government. In the wrong hands, the document could be used to bring terrible consequences for the British Empire."

"I believe" said Mycroft "that the papers were taken by an Albert Sloane. He s a German mercenary who works very closely with…"

"Professor Moriarty" finished Holmes.

"So," said Watson, "the papers were taken in order for the Professor to sell the names of British spies to the leaders of the countries that the spies are in".

"Very well" said Holmes "Mr Northolt, I will need to gain access to your office". 

Northolt nodded "Give me twenty minutes. There is a gentleman I need to visit at the club". He bid good day to us all, and left the room.

"I need a list of British spies, Mycroft"

"I will get it for you as soon as possible". Holmes looked sternly at his brother. Mycroft sighed "by seven o'clock tonight then".

Holmes nodded, and led us back through the club. All the time, I seemed to be attracting glances from the members of the club "It's like being in London Zoo" I whispered to Watson. He chuckled and we reached the door of the club, and walked out into the street. 

All of a sudden, I had the feeling that something wasn't quite right. Holmes seemed to sense it too. He looked around, worried. Then, out of nowhere came a loud bang. We all fell backwards as the Diogenes club disintegrated before our eyes. 


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer - I don't own any of Conan Doyle's characters.

Thank you for all your reviews - they are very gratefully received. Hope you all liked the cliffhanger...

**Chapter 7**

As I fell backwards, and landed on the road, I saw the flames protrude from the building. The three of us got up and just stared at the club, which was now little more than rubble, with only a few small areas still standing. "Mycroft…" said Holmes softly, and started towards the club.

Watson caught his arm "Holmes, there's nothing more you can do."

"My brother…" Holmes murmured softly. The street had gone from dead quiet to horrifically noisy in a few seconds. There was the sound of people crying, of the fire bells ringing and of people shouting, and trying to force their way into the building.

Watson had a hand on Holmes' shoulder as he just stared into the rubble of the club, dazed. I put a hand on his other arm, trying to give as much comfort as I could, but suspecting that there was nothing that I could do to help the man. I looked across the street, and recognised a face at the edge of the scene. Rogers. Moriarty's mercenary. He was standing there, smiling at the look on Holmes' face, a look of complete anguish and sorrow. I had never hated anyone as much as I hated Rogers in that instant.

I walked away from Holmes and Watson, who did not notice me go. Rogers moved towards me and gave me a note. "From Moriarty" he said in explanation.

I opened it, reading it out loud. It was only a few lines, but those sentences made my blood boil. "I told you that you would suffer if you intervened in my business. Next time, it will be the girl. Moriarty." The anger rose up inside of me, but I also felt a chill of horror. If this man, this Professor could do this to my godfather, what…? My thoughts trailed away, as I looked around and saw the unmoving figure of Holmes standing with Watson. I had to be strong. I turned back to Rogers. "You tell Moriarty that he can't frighten me that easily".

Rogers smiled "I think he already has".

I looked down, and saw, to my disgust that my hands were shaking. When I looked up, Rogers was gone, melted into the crowd. I clasped my hands together, trying to steady them, and then went back to Watson's side. "Call a cab" Watson whispered to me, as I stood by him. "We must get him home."

I nodded, and hailed a cab quickly. Watson managed to lead Holmes into the cab, and I borrowed a blanket from the driver, giving it to Watson to put around Holmes' shoulders. "Is he in shock?" I asked.

Watson nodded "I believe he is. We should get him back to Baker Street". I nodded, and yelled up to the driver our destination. When the cab started to move, I looked back at Holmes, and then at Watson, who I realised was studying me intently. "And you?" he asked "are you alright?" He must have noticed that my hands were still shaking, because he reached forward to where my hands were lying in my lap, and clasped them gently, before smiling at me, and returning his attention to Holmes. We reached the door of 221B very quickly, as Watson had promised the driver a small fortune if he made it to Baker Street quickly. He helped Holmes and I out of the cab, unlocked the door, and then paused. He looked grimly at me "Will you look after him?" he asked "I should go and see Lestrade at Scotland Yard". I nodded, and he smiled fleetingly at me, before getting back into the cab, which drove off in the direction of Scotland Yard.

Mrs Hudson emerged from the kitchen, and saw a deeply shocked Holmes being half-led, half-carried up the stairs by me. "What happened?" she asked. A note of panic entered her voice "Doctor Watson…?"

"He's fine" I answered "He's just gone to Scotland Yard. I think Mr Holmes needs a cup of tea, and a blanket". Mrs Hudson nodded, and started off into the kitchen "And Mrs Hudson…?" I called after her.

"Yes?"

"Put some brandy in his tea. I think he needs it." I led Holmes up the remaining stairs and into the lounge. Mrs Hudson entered and we both helped him into a chair. The landlady left, and I looked at the man. I had never seen him like this. He stared straight forward, without speaking. His eyes were full of the fear that Watson and I had seen earlier. I went over to the fire, and knelt next to it, trying to make it warmer, both for him, and for myself. I was shaking all over now, a chill of fear running all through me.

While I was kneeling next to the fire, trying to warm up, Holmes spoke. "I'm sorry".

I looked at him in surprise. For a minute, I thought he was speaking to a memory, a ghost, but he was looking straight at me, his features softened. He had obviously awoken from the horrible living nightmare that had taken hold of him for the last few minutes. "What?" I said, not knowing why he should be apologising to me.

"I've put you and Watson in danger". Although he was not crying, Holmes' eyes glistened as he looked at me. I went to sit by the arm of his chair, and put a hand on his arm, which I noticed thankfully was not shaking. I don't think I could have had him see me afraid. It would have made things ten times worse.

He looked gratefully at me and I said "No need to worry about that. Watson and I are tougher than we look".

Holmes smiled quickly at me, just a flash of a smile "I know". He studied me, and continued "but what about you?"

"What about me?"

"He was your godfather…where…?"

I interrupted, knowing that that wasn't important now, but also knowing where I would have to go. Back to Sevenacres. "It's alright. Don't worry about me."

He seemed about to say something, but thankfully, Watson walked in. "How are you Holmes?"

"Better"

"Good." Watson lifted up a piece of paper. "List of all the British spies both here and overseas". He handed the list to Holmes.

The great detective looked at it for a minute and then looked up at the two of us, standing over him, whilst he sat in his chair. "The case is over".

"What?" Watson asked, in disbelief "What do you mean?"

"Just that. The case is over."

Watson and I exchanged looks. I murmured "For your brother, Holmes. Couldn't you do it for your brother".

Holmes looked up at me, and to my surprise, looked me straight in the eye "I can't put you in anymore danger…" I shook my head, and tried not to look him back in the eye. He rose and looked from me to Watson, and said "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I have to go. But you shouldn't come".

"Don't be silly, old man" said Watson, clapping a hand on Holmes' shoulder. "I'm coming".

I nodded "as am I."

Holmes looked at me. "You shouldn't come."

I nodded "perhaps I shouldn't. But he was my godfather, he looked after me. I'm grateful for that." I looked up at him "and Watson's right. You shouldn't go alone."

Holmes nodded, looked at us thankfully, and then ran off downstairs. Watson followed him, and I was left standing there. Why didn't I say it? Why didn't I say what I had so wanted to say? That yes, I wanted to help him because of loyalty to Mycroft, but also, I wanted to help him because I wanted to make sure he was alright. I shook my head in disbelief. No. No, I couldn't and wouldn't fall for him. I grabbed my cape that was lying on the settee, and at the sound of Watson calling my name, ran downstairs and got into the cab.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer - Yes. I own nothing.

Thanks so much for all the reviews. Poor Mycroft! And poor Holmes as well.

Chapter 8

We got in the cab, and Holmes ordered it to go to The Houses of Parliament. This really was somewhere that I, as a mere woman could not enter. "You could come in" said Watson.

"There's a difference between barging into a gentleman's club, and barging into the Houses of Parliament", I said, my voice lighter than it had been.

Holmes nodded, and he and Watson disappeared into the rather beautiful building. I sat in the cab, and was sure that I heard a faint noise, like something falling off the roof of the carriage. This was strange to say the least, but I heard nothing else after this, so I decided to ignore the sound. Suddenly, the cab started to move. I shouted out to the driver "What are you doing?" I made to open one of the doors, but they both flung open, and three men leaped in and pushed me onto my seat. Before I could ask what on earth they were doing, they had forced a gag into my mouth, and tied my hands.

One of the men smiled. He spoke in a German accent and said "You my girl, are going on a visit. To see the great Professor Moriarty. He'll teach Holmes to interfere". I stared at him in fear for a moment, and then tried to struggle free from my bonds. One of the men hit me over the head with something, and I fell forward, and everything went black.

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The following, I am assured is a true account of the actions of Mr Holmes and Dr Watson whilst we were separated.

They entered the Houses of Parliament, and managed to gain an audience with Benjamin Foster, the Home Secretary. He told my friends that there had been three unsuccessful break-ins in just that month, all into offices where the spy documentation was being held. They had employed police guards from Scotland Yard on the room of Mr Northolt on the night of the burglary, but they had been drugged, by person or persons unknown. Holmes requested a list of the names of these guards, and this was obtained for him. Lord Foster then said that he had received letters from an untraceable 'Professor Moriarty' on four occasions, each time asking for the spy list, each time offering a higher price for it's delivery. Lord Foster did not give in to this bribery and instead decided to call the police, who advised him not to pay any attention to these 'poison pen' letters. Both Holmes and Watson examined the letters and excused themselves from Foster's office, making their way back to the street.  
When they arrived, they found our cab and myself had disappeared, seemingly into thin air. "Where can she be?" Watson asked "She could not have taken the cab?"

Holmes shook his head "She would have waited for us". He looked down the street, and then got down on his hands and knees, making an inspection of the area. He got up, and looked at Watson, "the cab went that way - with more than one person in the travelling compartment. The driver was pushed off the cab, and has since fled the scene it seems."

Holmes and Watson stood in the street, completely stuck as to what to do next. Watson looked down, as he felt something tugging on his coat. A little street urchin stood there, looking a little frightened. "If you please, Sir" he said in a soft voice "Are you looking for the lady who was in that cab?"

"Yes" Watson said eagerly.

The little boy held out a grubby hand. Watson sighed angrily, but Holmes laughed and pressed a sixpence into the boy's hand. "She went that way" said the boy "I think she was in trouble. She was a very pretty and very rich young lady and the three men who got in the cab hit her on the back of the head, and she fell over. I heard one of the men saying a name. It was Mori…Moray…Moria…"

"Moriarty?" asked Watson.

"Yes, yes, sir. That was it."

"Did you see anything, anyone else?" asked Holmes

"No sir" said the boy, and he ran off, towards a group of other little boys.

Both men looked at each other as the boy ran off. "Holmes, what do we do?" asked Watson.

Holmes gazed into the distance for a moment, and then said "We find Moriarty and the spy list, and we find Elisabeth."

"But that's nigh on impossible!"

Holmes smiled wryly "Surely you must have some confidence in me, Watson".

"Of course I do. But do you have any idea…?"

"I have the beginnings of a plan. Come Watson, we must hurry. Miss Hardy's life my depend on it."

He started off down the street, but was stopped by Watson saying "Holmes, what do you think Moriarty will do to her?"

Holmes turned and some light of fear came into his eyes for a moment. He walked to Watson and put a hand on his shoulder "We have to find her, and we will. Come!"

He took off at a run down the street, with Watson following closely behind.

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Meanwhile, my captors and I arrived at what would seem to be Moriarty's headquarters. When I awoke, I was on a bed in a room at the top of the house. I looked out of the window to see the roofs of other London houses, and not much else. It was very depressing to know that I was in one of many thousands of houses and that my friends could have no idea to where I could be. Maybe I could make this house a little more distinctive. I emptied the pockets of my dress, to find a money bag, a white handkerchief and a small pill box. Nothing there. Then, I realised what I had been missing. My dress that day was of a red velvety material. I sat down, and managed to rip a piece of the underskirt off, more than likely completely ruining the dress, but that didn't matter now. I hung the material out of the window, and prayed that someone, anyone, would see it.

As I finished, the door opened, and in walked Professor Moriarty. He was just as frightening as Holmes had said. He had hard, emotionless eyes, and a madness about him. He had greying hair, and an evil smile. As soon as I saw him, I felt an overt sense of fear. If I hadn't known it before, I knew it now - I was in trouble. "Well" he said "You must be Holmes' friend".

I nodded, and tried to put up a show of bravado "And you are Professor Moriarty".

He smiled widely "I can see why Holmes must like you. Your name?"

"Elisabeth Hardy"

"Well, Miss Hardy, you are very welcome here. Until we decide to kill you, you are our honoured guest."

"How kind."

"And your death may be a long way off. Weeks, months, years, if you help us."

"How?"

"Tell me about Holmes"

I didn't hesitate "No."

"He does not deserve your loyalty"

I smiled "Just shows how much you know about him."

"He won't help you. He'll leave you here to die at my hands"

I stayed silent, confident of the contrary.

Moriarty, I was pleased to observe, seemed to be losing his self control "Come, girl, tell me"

"No"

"He won't help you"

"He will, they both will. Or at least they'll try. And even if he doesn't succeed, it doesn't matter"

"You fool."

"Perhaps"

"You'll die tomorrow." He must have seen a flicker of fear in my eyes, because he laughed heartlessly. "Sleep well" he said nastily and left the room.

I sunk down onto the bed, and stared out of the window. I was determined not to cry. I lay down on the bed, and stared up at the ceiling. It blurred, as tears came to my eyes. I brushed them away, and whispered "Please Holmes, please. Find me." The sky out of the window started to darken. It would rain soon. I turned over, and in a state of complete exhaustion, fell into sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer - I do not own Holmes or anyone vaguely familiar. I do however own Elisabeth.

Thanks for all the wonderful reviews!

Chapter 9

Holmes and Watson worked all through the night, trying to find Moriarty and the spy list. They hunted through government archives, went to see members of the cabinet, and even the Prime Minister himself, although he was not best pleased at being awoken in the middle of the night. Their investigations had taken them back to Baker Street. They were sitting in their normal chairs, Watson desperately thumbing through what seemed like endless sheaves of paper, Holmes staring into the fire, thinking. It was eight o'clock in the morning before he leapt out of his chair, shouting, "I've got it!"

Watson looked up, bleary eyed and yawned "You have?"

"Yes. I have. Come Watson!"

"Where are we going to now?"

Holmes seemed to say the words before he thought about them. As he said the phrase, he seemed to realise what he had said and trailed off "The Diogenes cl…"

Watson looked at Holmes, concerned, as Holmes closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, they were bright, gleaming. "Holmes, are you alright?"

Holmes smiled quickly at Watson's concern and said heavily "Yes. I'm alright. Everything is leading back to the club." Watson nodded, and went to hail the cab, as Holmes stood for a moment, alone. Then, as if released from his reverie, he sighed, grabbed his coat, and went to get in the hansom cab.

The cab moved through the busy London streets to the club, the remainder of which was complete wreckage, apart from a few walls which were only just still standing. Holmes got out of the carriage, and ran, followed swiftly through the rubble by Watson. Holmes reached a wall, and went behind it, falling to his hands and knees, and crawling across the floor, wielding his magnifying glass. Watson, puzzled, looked at him in some concern. The poor man, he thought, had obviously gone quite delusional…or had he indulged in some substance when they were back at Baker Street, and Watson's back was turned… All of a sudden, Holmes made an exclamation, and leapt up. "Watson, help me".

Watson strode over, and saw that Holmes had uncovered a trap door in the floor. He took one side, and Holmes took the other, and they lifted the door up. A man's head looked up at them in surprise. Watson looked at Holmes as his face turned scarlet, and he grabbed the man by the collar and somehow managed to pull him out. He held the man against the wall, and growled at him "Where is she, Northolt? And where's Moriarty?"

"I won't tell you."

Holmes nodded at Watson, and Watson took out his revolver and pointed it at Northolt. "My friend will shoot you unless you tell us where we'll find Miss Hardy"

"You're bluffing."

Watson readied his gun "I was a soldier in the army. Believe me, he's not bluffing."

Northolt looked from Holmes to Watson "You'll be too late now."

"Tell us" said Holmes, tightening his grip on the man's throat.

" Moriarty is going to hang her. This morning."

"The monster…" murmured Watson "to do that…to a woman…"

"Where?" yelled Holmes.

Northolt gasped as Holmes' grip increased "number 23, Silver terrace…now please…" Holmes let the man go, and he fell to the ground, clutching at his neck. Holmes and Watson turned to go, and Northolt sneered after them "What about me?"

"If she dies" said Watson "We'll be back for you later". They ran to the cab, and paid the driver to gallop all the way to Silver Terrace.

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That morning, I had been awoken by the bone-jarring sound of hammering downstairs. I rolled over to find Moriarty sitting at my bedside, staring straight at me. "Good morning my dear. I hope you slept well."

"What's that noise?"

"Why, dear girl, they're constructing your gallows. How would you like to die a traitor's death"

"What…?"

"Hanging, drawing and quartering"

I gasped, in horror, and immediately scolded myself for doing so, as Moriarty grinned, and said "ah, as I thought, not too keen. My friend, Moran, is an expert at it. Mr Holmes will find this house, I am sure, but he will also find parts of your body scattered around it!"

I looked him in the eye, and tried to steady my breathing "Are you trying to scare me, Moriarty? I'm not afraid of death."

Moriarty laughed "Are you not? You will be. By the end." He threw me some clothes, and got up to leave. "Put those on. Executions are always carried out with the vict…criminal in white." He left the room, and I pulled off my clothes and put on the dress he had given me. I pulled up my hair, as well putting it up into a bun. As I did so, I shuddered. I had seen pictures in the books in my fathers library, books I should not have been reading. Pictures of people in mortal agony, suffering from the traitor's execution. I could not bear to think of what would happen to me. I sat on the bed, thinking of all the people I cared about, and loved; my brothers, my parents, Holmes and Watson. I would never see them again.

Soon Moriarty came into my room, and took my arm, forcing me down a flight of stairs into a sparsely furnished room. Five men were in the room, faces covered up, bowing to Moriarty like he was some kind of king or something. He forced me too my knees, and I looked up at him, scowling. He bent down and whispered into my ear "I will spare me, if you tell me all about Holmes."

"No."

"Your loyalty is foolish."

"Yes." I smiled sadly.

Moriarty pulled me to my feet, and started to attack me, punching, kicking. I covered my face with my hands to try and shield me, but it was no good. I fell to the floor, onto my knees again, and Moriarty again pulled me up, and forced me up onto some sort of gallows. He stood next to me, and grabbed my throat, whispering "I can't wait to see you die."

Suddenly, the doors flew open, and in run Holmes and Watson, the latter bearing a gun. "Holmes!" I cried. I saw a great brute of a man behind him, and about to attack him. "Look out!" I yelled. Holmes turned and smacked the man over the head with his stick. Two shots rung out. Watson had subdued two other men. Holmes ran towards the platform, towards Moriarty, but the Professor threw me off the gallows into Holmes' arms. Then he, and two other men, who were still standing, made a run for it.

Holmes did not go after them, but instead held me a little tighter. I looked up at him, surprised. "Are you alright?" he murmured to me. I nodded, and he let me go quite quickly, and moved over to one of the men who had been shot by Watson. I composed myself, and felt a hand on my shoulder. Watson stood behind me, grinning. I beamed at him, and hugged him tightly.

We broke away as Holmes bent over a man, and removed his mask. "Rogers!" I said, and Watson and I moved to stand next to Holmes. "He caused the explosion at the club." At this, Holmes picked up Rogers' loaded gun from the floor, and aimed it at the man's head.

"No!" both Watson and I said at once. I went to stand between Holmes and Rogers, and Watson took the gun from his friends' hand.

"Don't" I said "You'll be just as bad as him."

Holmes nodded, and sighed "I know." He threw Rogers his scarf. The man had a bullet wound in his leg, which was bleeding profusely. "This will stem the bleeding," Holmes said, and I grinned at him. He glanced at his brother's murderer one more time, and walked away.

We all sat in the hansom cab, which was waiting outside. I leant back into the seat, and was about to fall asleep to the sound of Holmes and Watson discussing something, when I was jolted awake again, by Holmes directing a question at me. "What?" I said, yawning.

"Have you not been listening to a word we've been saying?" asked Holmes, grumpily.

"No." I said "Strangely enough, I can't say I had a very restful night's sleep last night."

Watson smiled "Holmes and I were discussing where you are to live. We feel that as Holmes was your godfather's next of kin, he should be able to offer you a place to stay."

"Where?" I asked, sleepily.

"Why, at Baker Street, of course" Holmes said.

"At 221B?" I said, a little wider awake now. Watson smiled "Why yes, of course."

"But where will I sleep?" I asked.

"We have a spare room at the top of the house" said Holmes "and I don't expect Mrs Hudson will mind you living with us."

"But…" I said, "what will people say?"

"Nothing." Watson said "Mrs Hudson shall be your chaperone, and Holmes and I your guardians. We shall, of course have to broach the subject with your aunt and uncle…"

I sat up "Oh, no you don't! They will never let me stay. I shall tell them that in the absence of Mr Mycroft, I am living with friends - and that is as much as I will say on the matter."

"You should tell someone…" Watson reprimanded me.

"And so I will. My brothers. They will not mind, I am sure."

Holmes let out a shout of laughter, and smiled at me. Then he said "Now, my dear. You accept?"

I grinned "Of course I accept."


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer - Yep, I don't own Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Inspector Lestrade or Mrs Hudson, or for that matter, any of the other characters you recognise from Sir Conan Doyle's stories. 

Chapter 10

My life at Baker Street was full, and exciting. Holmes and Watson had seen that I was capable of protecting myself, and that I was not too affected by the blood and gore that they had to see as private detectives. Holmes and Watson seemed to like having me on the 'team', as female suspects and victims were more inclined to talk honestly to me than to my friends. We worked together, the three of us, as good and close friends. I saw my family often, but I was mostly in London, where my Uncle and Aunt seemed to think that I was seeking out a husband.

One day, I had just reached Baker Street after going to buy a new pair of boots, when I was greeted by a familiar voice "Hello Beth!"

I turned and saw my eldest brother standing behind me, grinning. "Johnnie!" I yelled joyfully, pleased to see him. It had, after all, been at least a month since I had seen him. I threw my arms around his neck.

"Hey," he said "be careful or you'll knock me over!"

I pulled away and beamed at him "What are you doing here? Where's Paul?"

John's expression changed completely. He looked sad and upset, and suddenly a lot older. It was like he had aged 10 years in the space of a moment. I looked at him closer, and noticed that his hair was dotted with grey, and he looked as though he had not slept in days. "That's what I need to talk to you about." He seemed to see something over my shoulder "I'm being glared at."

I turned, and saw Holmes and Watson standing behind us, having just got out of a cab. They were surveying us, but what I noticed most was Holmes' face. He was doing most of the glaring. His face looked like thunder. "Oh dear…" I said "Holmes doesn't know who you are. He probably thinks I'm being indiscrete".

John looked at me, and his face broke into a smile. He laughed tiredly "You think so do you?"

I looked at him, puzzled, and led him over to my friends. "Mr Holmes, Dr Watson," I said in introduction "This is my eldest brother, John." Holmes' expression changed completely, his face relaxing, and both men shook John's hand in welcome. Watson invited John in, and we all went up to the lounge. Watson offered John cigars and whiskey, both of which he politely refused. "So Johnnie," I said to him, "what did you need to talk to me about?"

John suddenly looked worried, and went deathly pale. He put a hand up to his head, as if nursing a terribly bad pain, and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he sighed, and his eyes shone, unnaturally. Holmes, Watson and I looked at him in concern. Watson got up from his chair, and studied John intently. "You, sir" said Watson "Are in no fit state to be up. You look as though you have not slept in days." He called for Mrs Hudson to bring some tea.

John shook his head "It's Paul" he said, heavily.

"Your brother?" Watson asked.

"That's right. I'm…worried. About his mental state"

I laughed in disbelief "What do you mean? Paul can't be…"

John turned on me, his eyes hard. His voice rose in anger "Do you think…do you think I'd lie about something like that?…I have not slept for days…I hear him, pacing about in his room…muttering about home…feverishly counting money that he steals from our aunt and uncle…scaring our cousins…how dare you…"

I stood up, and went to sit next to him. "John…Johnnie, please…I didn't mean to doubt you…"

John nodded "I'm sorry, I just can't think straight." He took a deep breath, drunk his tea, and composed himself before saying "I should tell you from the beginning really. Last week, I proposed to our cousin, Mary. I love her, and we're getting married…"

"Congratulations" said Holmes, and I grinned.

"When I did so…" said John "Paul stormed out of the room. I followed him, and he said that the three of us are going back…back to Africa. I told him that it was impossible for us to do so, but he wouldn't listen. He's awful to our aunt and uncle and cousins - says that they're holding us back. I tried to tell him that the lodge has been sold, that England is our home now, but he wouldn't listen. He sits counting money for us to get back. And…he keeps a gun on his sideboard. He's threatened the servants, even our relatives with it."

John finished, and I realised what he was asking "You want me to talk to him?"

"He might listen to you"

I nodded "Maybe. I'll get my cape."

Holmes stood, and looked at me "If there are guns involved, we're coming with you. You may need some help."

"Mr Holmes, Dr Watson…"

"No, Elisabeth" said Watson "we're coming with you. Even if it is as your body guard!"

I smiled at this, and John stood, a little shakily, but otherwise looking greatly improved "I should be pleased if you'd join us." Holmes and Watson got their coats and hats, and we walked to the station, before getting a train to the village, and then hailing a cab to take us to Sevenacres House. As we arrived, we saw that there was a great flurry of activity at the front of the house.

We all got out of the cab, and John paid the driver, before turning to the butler, an old man of about 70, called Trenman, who seemed to be in a great state of agitation. "Mr Hardy, sir," said the butler "It's your brother, sir. He's got a gun, and is holding your aunt, uncle and cousins hostage in the lounge."

John and I glanced at one another, and we ran into the house, and up the stairs before reaching the lounge, swiftly followed by Holmes and Watson. We reached the door, and John quietly opened it. Slowly, we all entered. Paul looked awful. He hadn't washed for days, and looked much thinner. His skin was grey, and his eyes were sunken in. He smiled in a terribly demented sort of way, I felt a little afraid of him then. "Beth!" he cried out, hugging me, and beaming. But, he still kept a grip on the gun. Suddenly, he saw Holmes and Watson over my shoulder and his expression changed. "Get over there!" he shouted at my friends, directing them to stand over with my relatives, his gun pointed directly at Holmes' head. Both men moved in the direction he said. Paul looked at John and I, but kept the gun pointed squarely at Holmes' head. My heart was beating like a drum, and I felt a sense of overt fear. I could not bear to think what would happen if Paul pulled the trigger. Paul laughed, an eerie, chilling laugh, that sounded like it should have come from the mouth of a child, rather than the mouth of a twenty-four year old man. "We can go home!" he said.

I stepped forward, but stopped when I saw Paul's finger tighten around the trigger of the revolver. It was still pointed at Holmes. "We can't go home." I said "It's not our home anymore. This is home now".

"No."

"Yes. These people are blameless. They haven't done anything wrong. If you want to blame anyone for us not going back, it's us." I motioned to myself and John, who nodded. "Paul" I pleaded "Please. Let them go."

"Never. They'll die."

He pointed the revolver at Holmes' heart, and loaded it. "Holmes!" yelled Watson, but I was already standing between my brother and my friend. I struggled with Paul, trying to get the revolver from his hands, and away from my friend. Paul though was stronger. He shifted the revolver in his hand, although which way, I couldn't see, and a shot rang out…


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer - I do not own Sherlock Holmes, and any of his posse. I do own Elisabeth.

Thank you everyone for the reviews, they're great! I love cliffhangers...best bit of a story...

Chapter 11

As the shot rang out, I felt a sudden, sharp pain in my side. In shock, I looked down to see blood pouring out of the wound. I can't say that I was in terrible pain, but instead, I was in shock. I looked up at Paul in horrified surprise, as he looked into my eyes. His eyes were hard, emotionless. Everyone was silent, unsure of what had happened. A great wave of pain swept over me, and I fell backwards, landing on the floor with a great jolt. I heard John, Holmes and Watson all call out my name, and saw them try to get to me, but Paul waved the gun at them, and told them to stay put. He knelt next to me "It's your own fault, you know".

"Paul…" I was frightened at how weak my voice was, and felt myself losing more and more blood "Paul, don't…"

"Don't? Don't? Don't you see? I have to. Everything has to be back to the way it was."

Holmes stepped forward, slowly, and Paul swung the gun at him, trying to scare him. If Holmes was scared, then it didn't show "Listen to me, Paul. Your sister needs urgent medical attention. She's losing a lot of blood. She could die if you don't let us help her."

Paul seemed to consider, then looked down at me. For a minute, I fancy I saw the look of the old Paul in his eyes, but as quickly as it had come, it was gone again. "Just you" he said "no one else."

Holmes shook his head "But I'm not a doctor…Watson could…"

"You are the reason I had to shoot my sister. You'll heal her…or I'll kill her right now." Paul shifted the gun, so that it was pointing at my head.

Holmes turned to Watson "You'll have to tell me what to do"

Watson nodded "Stem the blood flow…stop the bleeding. And - try to get the bullet out."

Holmes nodded, and walked forward. He knelt next to me. He was anxious, I could tell from the way he drummed his fingers on his knee. With some effort, I touched his hand lightly and said pleadingly "Holmes…"

Holmes closed his eyes for a second, steadying his nerves, and then said "I'll help you. But this might hurt"

I nodded "Probably"

Holmes turned to Paul. "I need to get some equipment from Dr Watson's bag. It has medical supplies in it." Paul nodded, and Holmes took the bag from Watson, removing from it a solution of some kind, some clean metal tongs and a pair of gloves. He pulled on the gloves, and washed the tongs in the solution, and then, to my surprise, took hold of my hand and squeezed it. Then, he let go, and used the tongs to get the bullet out of the wound. I can safely say that I have never been in so much pain in all my life. I tried not to cry out, but I could not stop the whimpers of pain uttered from my lips. After what seemed like an eternity, Holmes removed the bullet, and I noticed that, for the first time since we had met, his hands were shaking. He pulled off his jacket, and stemmed the bleeding, which stopped off a little, after a while.

"Get her up" said Paul, his voice breaking the silence in the room.

"No." said Watson "I am a doctor, sir. She has lost too much blood. She is still too weak".

Paul pointed the gun at me "Get her up! Or it will be your fault when she is dead."

"It's alright" I said, my voice barely a whisper. Holmes heard it though, and turned to look me in the face "Please help me up." Holmes nodded, and helped me to my feet, and then half carried me to a table, where I could steady myself. Paul ordered him to go and stand with the rest of the group, and then grabbed hold of my uncle by the shoulder, and pushed him to his knees. In a kind of weakened haze, I suddenly realised what I had to do. But was I strong enough to do it?

Paul was not watching me at all now, he was too busy with my uncle, so I took my chance. I knew that my uncle kept a revolver in a drawer in his bureau at the back of the room. Quietly, I managed to drag myself the few metres to the desk, and opened one of the drawers, to reveal the gun. I picked it up, and loaded it quickly and silently, as my mother had shown me. I turned around to see Paul with his gun at my uncle's head and knew that he was not the same brother that I had known and loved so dearly in Africa. My hand shook awfully, and my eyes blurred, tears running down my face, a mixture of tears of pain, and tears of despair, but I knew that my aim was good.

Paul was about to pull the trigger, when a split second before, I did. The gun went off, and the bullet pierced Paul's thigh, making him collapse to the floor. As soon as the bullet hit, the gun fell from my hands. Everyone looked around at me, and I felt faint and utterly sick. I stumbled, and the next thing I knew, I was lying on the floor, John holding my hand, Watson feeding me a little brandy, and Holmes supporting my head. "She needs to be urgently operated on" Watson said "and I need a room in which to do it in." He picked up his bag.

"Up the stairs. Third door on the right" said my aunt "I'll show you".

I felt a little stronger, and looked around. John was holding onto Mary's hand too, and Katherine was being embraced by her father. Meanwhile, Paul was being administered to by the butler and the housekeeper, who had been able to gain admittance to the room. I wanted to ask what would happen to him, but as I opened my mouth to do so, Holmes seemed to read my thoughts and silenced me with a quick shake of the head. Then, he picked me up, and carried me up the stairs, following my aunt and Watson. When we reached the room, he put me onto the bed and held my hand, tightly. "Holmes" said Watson, gently "you can't stay" Holmes nodded and left the room.

After he left, I remember little else, apart from some pain, and the kind, soothing words of Doctor Watson. I fell into a deep, and eventful sleep, having many dreams, most of them abstract and completely strange in nature. When I awoke the next day, I felt refreshed and revived. I looked up, to see Holmes sitting on a chair, next to my bed, asleep. I smiled to myself, turned over, and dozed off again.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except Elisabeth. Who is not annoying me so much anymore.

Thank you for the reviews. To clear up any confusion, Paul lost it because of a mixture of post-traumatic stress from the loss of his parents, having to move from his country of birth, sheer hatred for his relatives and the realisation that life couldn't be as it was before. (Yep, I share a room with a psychology student.)

Chapter 12

I awoke when I heard Holmes get up from his chair. It must have been about nine o'clock, as the sun was shining through the curtains, and through the stained glass in the windows, and lighting up the dull-coloured room with a rainbow of different colours. Holmes walked over to the window, and looked out. I watched him lazily. His hair had become 'unslicked' and was now falling into his eyes. His shirt was a little undone at the neck and his bow-tie was hanging, unravelled, on the arm of his chair. He had smears of blood on his grey trousers and waistcoat and his white shirt, and his jacket, which was hanging on the door was covered in it.

I smiled, and tried to ease myself into a more comfortable position, but fell back onto the bed, groaning in pain. Holmes looked over in concern, and came to stand next to the bed. I held out my hand to him, and when he realised I was alright, he took it, smiling broadly "You look a little better".

"Good. I don't feel it." I held up my hand to the back of my head, which I had bumped when I had fallen backwards. It was bruised, but the skin hadn't broken. "How long have I…"

"Been asleep? About two days."

"Oh. I think I woke up yesterday, and then dozed off again." I sighed "Pretty long doze really, a whole day."

Holmes smiled "Well, I'm glad you slept. Watson said that it was better if you did."

I nodded. Then a thought struck me, and I looked Holmes in the eyes "What about Paul? What's happened to my brother?"

"He has been sectioned. I'm sorry."

I nodded sadly "He didn't seem like my brother…perhaps he'll get better…?" My voice lightened, and I looked up at Holmes hopefully.

He smiled, although it did seem a little forced, and said "Perhaps." He quickly changed the subject "Thank you".

"It doesn't matter. Or have you forgotten that you saved my life too?"

Holmes laughed and said "We'll call it even then?" He squeezed my hand, and I smiled up at him. Suddenly though, something changed in his demeanour, and he turned away, dropping my hand. I looked at him in surprise, as the warmth between us seemed to fade. "I have to go back to London" he said abruptly.

"Very well."

"I will see you back in Baker Street soon?"

"Yes."

"Good. Good Morning." He turned, picked up his jacket and tie, and walked out. I looked after him in some confusion. What had happened? Why had he left so quickly?

My musings were interrupted by Watson, who entered the room about a minute after Holmes had left. He beamed at me, and I smiled back. He examined my wound, and then said "Feeling any better?"

"A little, thank you."

"Where did Holmes go off to in such a hurry?"

"London?"

"Maybe..." Watson said, sensing my confusion, and speaking soothingly, "he has some work to do"

"Perhaps."

"I would not worry about him, Beth. You know what he's like. Not very good at expressing himself. But I know he's glad that you are feeling better."

I smiled, and started to get up "I feel like I've been in this bed for years." I felt a lot stronger, and managed to get onto my feet, with Watson's help. "Can we go for a walk?" I asked.

Watson nodded, and took my arm, and we walked out into the garden. For almost an hour, we walked around outside, talking of everything. I had no desire to stay in Sevenacres for another night, so we both decided that we would go back to Baker Street. I bid goodbye to my brother, and all the way back to London in the carriage I slept.

When we arrived at Baker Street, Watson went to talk to Mrs Hudson in the kitchen about what had happened. He offered me some help to get upstairs, but I shook my head, and said that I was sure I would be fine. I made my way slowly up the stairs, wincing a little in pain, but managed the first flight of stairs. I realised, however, that I would not be able to make the second flight up to my bedroom on my own, so I decided to wait for Watson in the lounge.

I opened the door, and found Holmes, sitting on his chair, staring into the fire, as if deep in thought. "I'm sorry -" I began "I didn't mean to disturb…" That moment, I knew all was not right. Holmes' face was blank and he showed no recognition at the sound of my voice. In fact, the only way that I could tell that he was still conscious was the strange, unearthly smile playing around his lips. I walked forward and stood in front of him, but there was still no sign of life. My gaze was drawn to his arm. His sleeve was rolled up and a piece of thin rubber tube was tied was tied across his bicep. On the side table next to his seat lay a syringe and a bottle of clear, water-like liquid. I picked up the phial and stared at the label - 'Morphine'. Everything became clear, and shocked, I took a step backwards, almost overbalancing. Watson walked into the room, and stared at the two of us. The immobile, blank Holmes, and the stricken look on my face. Watson took hold of my hand and pulled me gently across the room to the adjoining room - Holmes' bedroom. He pulled across the curtain which separated the two rooms and sat down onto the bed. I stared at him for a minute, before coming to sit next to him. I felt completely shocked and not a little confused, and looked up into Watson's face, searching for the truth. "What does he think he's doing?"

"He uses those foul chemicals to…exercise…his mental processes when he's had a spell of little work."

"But I've been here some months now, Watson, and I've never before seen him like this…"

"He doesn't want you to."

"But…"

"He cares about you Beth. I know he doesn't show it, and he is not the most vocal man in the world, but you've come to mean a lot to the both of us. He doesn't want you to see him in that state, but he can't stop himself doing what he does. The call of the drug bottle is too much… He usually…indulges…when the two of us are absent."

"I wish he could have told me…"

"Come, come, Beth. You know him better than that. He would never admit to a weakness, not to us. He never confided in me. The only reason I found out was because he left the draw he keeps the stuff in open one day." He looked at me, and must have seen something that looked like an expression of disgust on my face, because he said pleadingly "I beg you, Beth, his addiction is to be pitied. Don't hate him for it. For every foible and vice, he's a good man."

"I know. He's a brilliant man."

"I've tried to talk to him. As a friend, and a medical man. But he won't listen to me."

"What if we both talked to him? Would he listen if I joined you?"

Watson nodded his head "We can but try."

We turned, as we heard movement in the next room. Watson glanced at me, and we both got up to walk over to the curtain, and Watson pulled back the curtain, letting me enter the lounge first. Holmes had his back to us, but turned as he heard us entering the room. He was evidently trying to hide his syringe and other items in the lockable drawer in his desk. On his face, he wore a look of panic, which I took to mean that the effect of the drugs had worn off. I felt Watson's hand on the small of my back, pushing me towards Holmes. Watson held back, as I walked towards Holmes, my eyes meeting his. I came to stand in front of him, and placed a hand on his arm. He registered surprise in his eyes, and I removed the syringe and other paraphernalia from his hands and placed them in the drawer behind him. Watson moved to sit in his seat by the fire.

Holmes roused himself, patting my hand, and going to sit in his chair. He exchanged glances first with Watson, who smiled gently. Holmes then realised that I was still standing. He looked up, and waved me to a seat. When I sat, he turned to me, and spoke in a weary voice "So now you know my weaknesses. When do you want to leave?"

"I don't." I said firmly "Unless you want me to go."

Holmes smiled wryly. "You and Watson show me more consideration than I deserve."

Watson shook his head "Holmes, you are our friend."

"If I were you I would leave. I treat you both terribly."

"Come, Holmes…" said Watson "You cannot say that. We all have our weaknesses. For me, it is the horses, gambling."

"You should not make excuses for me, Watson."

"And I do not, my old friend. You must stop using these drugs and we will both try to help you. But you cannot think we would abandon you."

"Miss Hardy has been awfully quiet throughout this interchange." Holmes turned to look at me. "What do you think of me, Elisabeth?"

I smiled. "I do not think badly of you, Holmes. I never could. I won't leave if you need our help."

Holmes did not look at either of us, but he did nod his head. "Thank you."

Watson stood, and I took that as a cue to leave Holmes to think. Watson walked to the door, and turned as he reached it. "Goodnight, old friend."

"Goodnight" said Holmes quietly.

I walked across to the door, turned, and said "Sweet Dreams."

Holmes looked up at that, to meet my eyes. "Goodnight, Elisabeth. Sleep well. And… thank you."

I nodded, and left the room. Before I closed the door, I saw Holmes get up, close the drawer and lock it, before staring at the key, walking across the room, and placing it in the drawer Watson used to keep his pens and paper when he was writing. Then, he walked towards his bedroom. I pulled the door shut, and smiled, before stiffly and a little painfully climbing the stairs, and retiring for the night.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer - Unfortunately, I do not own any of Arthur Conan Doyle's characters, but I do own Elisabeth and her family.

Thanks everyone for the reviews! Keep 'em coming!!

Chapter 13

A few weeks passed when, for myself, nothing of note happened. I was convalescing, after being shot, and was forbidden from doing anything strenuous, or from getting involved in any of Mr Holmes' cases. I was instead expected to stay at home, reading or doing something equally unexciting. Almost everyday, Holmes and Watson would come home, talking excitedly of a new case, or of the criminals they had caught. I felt like a caged bird, trying to see through the bars of it's cage what was going on in the outside world. One day, I got so bored, I attempted to teach myself the violin, but after about twenty minutes, I was interrupted by Mrs Hudson, who told me in the nicest possible way to stop, as I was disturbing the neighbours.

It was not until five weeks after the accident that Watson proclaimed me recovered enough to go out. Holmes suggested a meal in one of his favourite restaurants as a celebration (a suggestion I was not a little surprised at), and we decided to meet that evening, after Watson had shut up his surgery. I know that at least Watson and myself were looking forward to the meal, and so it came as a great surprise to Holmes and myself when Watson had not met us after we had waited half an hour. "Where could he be?" said Holmes. He looked at his watch chain "I've never known Watson to be half an hour late for food before."

I grinned "Perhaps he's held up at the surgery. We could walk there and meet him." Holmes nodded and offered me his arm. I took it, and we walked off down the street on the short walk to Watson's surgery.

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There was a very good reason for Watson being so late. He had been shutting up his surgery on time, and had sent his nursing staff home for the evening. He was just locking the front door when he heard a noise behind him, and turned to see two men standing behind him. They told him that they were French noblemen, an uncle and nephew. The uncle had been struck down with a severe bout of angina, and had come to Watson to be treated for it. They realised that they had not come within visiting hours, but asked that Watson have a look at the older man.

Watson, considering for a moment, re-opened his surgery. He was sure that the consultation would not take too long, and that we would not mind waiting for a few minutes. He showed the uncle into the consulting room, and asked the nephew to wait outside. He had just turned his back for a minute to retrieve some medicine from his pharmacy, when he felt an almighty blow on the back of his head, and blacked out.

When he awoke, he was lying on the floor, his wrists and ankles bound, and a gag over his mouth. He looked up to see the two French gentlemen looking down at him, smiling nastily. "Our compliments from Professor Moriarty," the younger man said "He begs that you heed his advice. When you burn to death…" Watson looked up in terror and started to struggle "It's best that you just let the flames take you." He lit a match and smiled.

The older man laughed "This will teach you to conspire with Sherlock Holmes. He will die, you will die, and the girl will die. Au revoir, Dr Watson." The younger man dropped the match on some papers on Watson's desk and both men left, locking the door behind them, taking the key, and leaving by the back door.

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Holmes and I walked up the street to the surgery, and I felt Holmes tense. He sensed something, and I knew then that all was not right. "Can you smell smoke?" he asked.

I sniffed the air "Yes." My gaze was drawn to the window in the surgery. There was an orange, flickering light in the room. Holmes saw it too, and he stared at the window for a moment. "Fire." I whispered, shocked.

"Watson!" shouted Holmes. We both ran to the surgery door, which was, Thank the Lord, unlocked, opened it, and were met with a thick cloud of smoke. I held my scarf up to my mouth, as Holmes did the same with his, and we made our way to the consulting room. The door was locked, and it took the combined efforts of both myself and Holmes to break it down. Watson was lying on the floor, struggling. Holmes and I ran to him, and untied his bonds, and then all three of us, supporting each other, ran out of the surgery. Luckily, Watson's gag had stopped him inhaling too much smoke, so apart from some cuts and bruises he was well, although I did take some delight by teasing him that we would have to keep him locked in Baker Street for at least six weeks, while he convalesced.

Despite our joking, though, a sense of fear and dread passed through all of us, as we thought of Moriarty again. He had kept hidden for some time, and but now he was after us again, adamant that he would destroy and ruin all of us. But the fire was not the last time that we heard from Moriarty that week.

We were all at Baker Street, on the Friday afternoon, Holmes, Watson and myself. Holmes was playing his violin (a darn sight better than I had played it!), Watson was relaxing in his chair with a book, and I was sitting on the sofa, reading the newspaper. The door opened, and Mrs Hudson walked in, with tea for all of us, and a letter for me. I opened the letter, and glanced up to see Holmes and Watson looking at me, questioningly. I scanned the letter and sighed "It's nothing exciting. My aunt writes that she is to hold a ball at Sevenacres tomorrow, and would we like to join them. Apparently…" I read a passage from the letter "'There may be an important reason why I should come to the ball'."

"An important reason?" Watson said.

"Yes. My bet is that she's found me a husband again. So, do you want to go? Or will you condemn me to spending an evening in the company of some of the most boring men in England?"

Holmes and Watson both laughed. "Well," said Watson "We would not want to abandon you to that fate. We'll both come, won't we, Holmes?"

"Very Well."

"Good, good, my aunt can boast until Doomsday that she once had a famous detective at one of her parties." I sighed "Well, I'd better go."

"Where?" asked Holmes.

"Shopping. My aunt has sent me some money to buy a suitable dress for the ball. Do you want to come?" Both Holmes and Watson quickly shook their heads. I grinned and muttered "Typical men," before making my way out of the house and down to the much dreaded shops. I bought a dress, a navy blue one, plain, with no unnecessary flounces and frills, but it was beautiful.

The next evening, we all got dressed up in all our finery, and made our way to Sevenacres. When we arrived, I gave my cape to the footman, and turned to find Holmes staring at me. Watson walked forward and smiled "You look lovely tonight, Beth. Doesn't she, Holmes?" Holmes seemed to recover himself, and nodded. I looked at him questioningly, but he did not return my look.

Suddenly, I was pounced on by my aunt "My dear girl. How good it is to see you!" She glanced at Holmes and Watson "And your friends." From that point on, she completely ignored them. "I want to introduce you to someone." She pulled me through the crowds of people. I looked back and noticed that my friends were following discretely at a distance. I felt very grateful to them then, and smiled fleetingly at them both. My aunt brought me to a stop before a man. He was older, about fifty, and there seemed to be something familiar about him. He had greying hair, and a large, bushy moustache. He smiled at me, and I felt a little ill. "This" my aunt said "is Colonel Sebastian Moran." I heard Holmes mutter something to Watson, and saw, out of the corner of my eye, Watson place a hand on Holmes' arm. John came to stand next to them, and smiled in greeting to them, before turning his attention to the altercation between myself, my aunt and Moran. My aunt continued "He has done you the honour of asking for your hand in marriage."

I suddenly remembered where I recognised him from. He was one of Moriarty's men! I stood, shocked for a moment, before saying, indignantly "No!"

Everyone in the room turned as I did so, and my aunt looked at me angrily "Yes. You are going to marry him, young lady, if it's the last thing I do."

Moran looked at me, and spoke softly, so only my aunt, my friends, my brother and I could hear him. "I'll soon break you in, my girl. The great Professor Moriarty has given you to me as a reward for good service. After we marry, you shall never see your friends again." My aunt looked, a little confused, at Moran, but did not say anything in my defence. She obviously had been promised a great deal of money for me, and would easily sell me into a loveless marriage for it. I felt a great rush of anger towards her, but mostly towards Moran. I was fed up of being told to do. The only people who didn't insult me so were my dear brother and my friends, who I would be separated forever from if I married Moran. I glanced back, and saw that the three of them were looking lividly at Moran and looked about to attack him. Well, I wasn't about to leave it to them.

To the sound of gasps and loud applause from John, I slapped Moran, hard, around the face, and stormed out of the ballroom. Moran looked after me, scowling, and then turned to talk angrily with my aunt and uncle. At Watson's assertions, Holmes followed me out of the ballroom, and into one of the carriages, where I was sitting. I am a little ashamed to say that I was in tears. Holmes sat next to me, and rather awkwardly put his arm around me. "There, there" he said, comfortingly "don't cry." I grew closer to him, wanting to be comforted, and, to my surprise, Holmes' grip on me tightened. "I promise you" he said, his voice louder, and sounding determined "I will not let Moran take you as his wife."

I looked up at him, a little puzzled by his uncharacteristically heartfelt tone, and met his eyes, which were blazing with a mixture of anger and determination. I placed a hand on his, and whispered "I know."


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer - I am still a poor student. I don't own any of Conan Doyle's characters. 

Thanks for all the reviews!

Chapter 14

Some time passed with case after case to amuse the three of us. We heard little of Moriarty, or for that matter of Moran. My aunt and uncle also kept their distance, asserting that I had ruined their ball, as well as any chances of a decent marriage with my 'unladylike' show of aggression. My brother, on the other hand, found it most entertaining. As for Holmes, Watson and myself, we settled into an exciting routine of detective work. However, I knew that whatever case we immersed ourselves into, Moriarty was still there, and the fear was still in Holmes' eyes.

A few weeks after my twenty-first birthday, Watson and I perceived a change in our friend's demeanour. He seemed agitated and went out for hours at a time on his own. Watson and myself, on the other hand, had taken to going out together during the hours of daylight, and as part of a group after dark. We both knew the danger that we could be in from Moriarty, and were even more aware of the danger that Holmes was in. He would often return to Baker Street after his jaunts off alone covered in bruises and cuts. Once, he was missing for a whole week, causing Watson, Mrs Hudson and myself to worry about his safety. We would have called the police if he had not walked in a few minutes later, calling for his supper. When Watson and I asked him about his mood-swings and constant disappearances, he grunted or shrugged and fell as silent as the dead.

Both of us could guess, anyway, at the cause of all Holmes' strife. Moriarty. He haunted our dreams as he did Holmes', but he also seemed to haunt Holmes' footsteps wherever he went, like some demented spectre. There was no where for Holmes to have peace and the fear in his eyes was fast growing, with every knock at the door, every loud noise, every outcry in the street. He would leap up, and rush to the window, closing the blinds swiftly and breathing so fast he was in danger of hyperventilating. Watson and I could do nothing but glance at each other sadly, and try to calm him down. Moriarty was making him into a shell of a man. The only time he showed any peace of mind was when he played his violin, or could focus his mind solely on a case.

One night, Watson and I were in the lounge, reading, when we heard a tapping sound at the window. Disturbed and cautious, we approached, Watson picking up a poker resting by the fire. He dropped it though, as soon as we saw Holmes at the window, hanging off a trellis, and calling to be let in. Quickly, we both moved to the window, Watson pulling away the side board that rested in front of said window, and me pulling it open. We both reached out and offered him our hands, which he took, and then we pulled him into the room. He was wounded, quite badly, with deep cuts on his arms and face, and Watson ran to get his doctor's bag. I meanwhile, helped Holmes into his chair. "What happened?" I asked, concerned and frightened, as Watson rushed through the door "Where have you been? What…"

"Moriarty." Holmes only said one word, but it was as if that word summoned up everything that was evil and awful in the world. Watson nodded, understanding the fear of his friend.

He handed Holmes a glass of brandy and put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, old man," he said comfortingly "Tell us. What's wrong? What did Moriarty do?"

I knelt on Holmes' other side, and put a hand on his arm "Holmes?"

"He came here this morning. Just as I got in. Told me that we should work together, or that I would face the consequences. I turned him down. He left, and I went out on a walk to clear my head. His men tried to kill me three times. The last time, I only just escaped with my life." Holmes looked at Watson "I need to go away. Draw Moriarty away from London and his men. There is to be a round-up soon, of Moriarty's gang, and I have every hope that Moriarty will be captured too, but he needs to be away from lines of communication. I thought about the continent. Will you come?"

"Of course, Holmes" Watson said, but he glanced quickly at me.

"What about me?" I asked

"It's too dangerous." Holmes said. "I promised your brother we would protect you. Stay here."

"No."

"Yes. Moriarty is more dangerous than you seem to realise. You can't come."

My voice rose in anger "I was Moriarty's prisoner. I know what he's capable of. I was with you at the Diogenes club." I immediately wished I hadn't said the last bit as Holmes closed his eyes in anguish. "I'm sorry," I said quietly.

"Stay here with Mrs Hudson." Holmes opened his eyes and spoke calmly and gently. "Please. Do that for me."

I hesitated and nodded "If you say so." Holmes then turned to Watson and they made arrangements for his passage to Victoria Station to catch the boat train in the morning. They would then sail to Calais, and then make their way to Switzerland, across country. While this conversation took place, I knelt there, numb to everything.

Before long, Holmes looked at the clock on the mantle. "I must leave," he said, "or I will put you in even more danger than you are already in." He rose, and we did too. He turned quickly to me, and then to Watson. "Keep safe," was his offering to me "and I will see you tomorrow," he said to Watson.

"Will I not see you?" I asked him. "Before you go?"

"No." he answered, and I noticed that he seemed to shudder a little "You may never see me again."

An overwhelming sense of sadness came over me. When I spoke, my voice was chocked with tears. "Don't say that."

"It's perfectly true. Moriarty is not best pleased with me."

"But…"

"Stay in London, Beth." he said. I took a second to register surprise at his use of my nickname. Usually he used 'Elisabeth' or 'Miss Hardy'. He took my hand, and squeezed it. "And have a wonderful life."

"But Holmes…" I felt my eyes fill with tears, and I noticed that his eyes were glimmering too.

He looked at me for a second and then let my hand drop from his grasp, turning, with a brisk "I have to go. Goodbye." He patted Watson on the shoulder, and then he walked away, out of the house, leaving by the back door.

We heard it slam, and I turned to Dr Watson, feeling very much like a child. "Does he really mean it? Will I not see him again?"

Watson sighed, and put his arms around me, comforting me like a father would do for a young daughter. He held me there for about five minutes whilst I sobbed into his chest, and then kissed me on the forehead, and whispered "Go to bed. Everything will look better in the morning." He guided me towards the door "Get some sleep."

As I went upstairs, I looked around and saw the look of worry on his face. Worry for Holmes, and worry for me. When he saw me looking at him, he quickly smiled, and followed me up the stairs to his own room. I got into my room and closed the door. I sank down onto the bed and felt a feeling of absolute dread in my heart.

I slept a little, but awoke an hour or so later, tired, but realising that what Watson had said was right. Everything did look better, simply because now I knew exactly what I would have to do. I could not, and would not, leave my two dearest friends to face a man like Moriarty alone. I would follow them.

I tiptoed down the stairs and, wrapping a clock around myself, went out of the back door, where I found a group of young children, mostly boys - 'The Baker Street Irregulars', a group of children Holmes employed to ensure that news from every backstreet, park and district in London got to him. These children were fiercely loyal to him, and I knew, would help me.

As I approached the children stood up, removing their caps. "'Ello, Miss Beth," said one of the boys. He was Freddie, one of the oldest of the boys.

"Evening, Freddie." I smiled

"You alrigh', Miss?"

"I need your help, Freddie. And your father's. Will he help Mr Holmes?"

"Of cawse, Miss. After all 'e did for me mum."

"Good. Take this money. I need you to follow Mr Holmes and Dr Watson to Calais in France. Keep an eye on them until I get there a few hours later. Also, I'll need a horse. Here's some extra money for that." I handed it to him, and Freddie pocketed all the money. But I knew I could trust him, and his father.

"Yes, Miss."

"But make sure they don't see you. Use your brains."

"Yes, Miss."

"Thank you Freddie."

He ran off, leaving the other children, to whom I gave a coin each. Then, I walked back into the house, and quietly packed a bag, and hid it. Lastly, I wrote a letter to my brother, explaining what I had done, and put it on my dresser, determining to send it the next day.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer - Nothing has changed. I still don't own any of Arthur Conan Doyle's characters. 

Sorry I took so long to do this next chapter, been so busy! Thank you for all the reviews.

**adlersdaughter:** Yeah, I realised after you said that it was a bit dense of Holmes to explain his plans in front of Elisabeth. Perhaps he doesn't think she'll do anything…or perhaps something in him wants her to follow him…?

**Chapter 15**

Watson left early the next day, and I awoke to him knocking on the door, at about half seven. I opened it to find him standing there. He smiled at me, and said, "It's time for me to go, Beth. Try not to worry about Holmes."

I smiled sadly, and said "Or you. Look after yourself Watson, and him."

Watson nodded, but a strange look appeared on his face. I looked at him questioningly, and he smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, Beth."

"Wha…?" But Watson pushed me backwards into the room, and then pulled the door quickly shut. I heard the sound of the key turning in the lock. "Watson!" a sense of panic came over me "let me out!"

"I'm sorry, Beth." Watson said "It's for your own good. Goodbye." I heard him leave, and fell back onto the bed.

"Damn!" I said loudly "What am I meant to do now?" I heard Watson leave the house, the door banging behind him. Then I grinned. I had thought Watson might try something like this. I waited a few hours, enough time for Mrs Hudson to be sure I was still in the room, pacing around like a caged beast, and then changed into a set of the men's clothes I had brought with me, picked up my money bag, and put it in my pocket, and then picked up my backpack, slinging it onto my back. I then wrote a short note to Mrs Hudson, begging her not to worry, and apologising profusely for my leaving. I then added, as an afterthought, a request that she post my letter. I posted the not under my door, and put my hat on, pulling it over my face. I could pass as a man, as long as no one looked at me too closely. I glanced at the clock. I had forty minutes until my train went from Victoria. I pulled up the unlocked window, and made to climb out of it, when the door swung open.

Mrs Hudson stood there, a mixture of amusement and sheer disbelief on her face "I never thought you'd try it" she said.

"Please, Mrs Hudson," I pleaded "My train…"

Mrs Hudson nodded "Keep them safe, Beth. Good luck". I surveyed her quickly for a moment, and then nodded, running out of the bedroom, kissing Mrs Hudson on the cheek as I ran past, then ran down the stairs, and out of the house, onto the street, where I hailed a cab. I sat back in the cab. I aimed to catch the midnight ship to Calais, which would get into Calais a few hours later than Holmes' and Watson's would.

My journey was relatively uneventful although it did involve a lot of sitting around at various stations in the middle of the countryside. I managed to catch the right boat, however, and reached Calais at six o'clock in the morning. Despite being tired and hungry, my heart lifted, knowing I was close to my friends. The harbour town was quite beautiful, and I was met from the boat by Freddie and his father, George. They took me to the inn that they had spent the night in, and I bought breakfast for the three of us. "Mr 'Olmes lef' abou' an 'our ago" said George, in his broad cockney accent. "They're walkin', y'know, to Brussels, and then on t' Switzerland. Across country. We got yer 'orse."

"Thank you."

"And" said Freddie "We made friends with the bloke who's guiding them. He says he'll make sure they don't rumble you."

I grinned, and we talked and ate for another hour, before walking to the stables to see the horse. He was a big, strong animal, a chestnut stallion, called Nicolai. I stroked the horse's nose, and he nuzzled me. "I'm glad we like each other, Nick." I whispered to him. I mounted the horse, and was handed some food, which I placed in the saddlebags. Freddie and George took me to the gate which Holmes, Watson and their guide had left by.

"They were goin' along this road for abou' five miles, then across country onwards. The guide said 'e would leave a sign for you." George said. Then, he handed me a rifle. I glanced at him "The men who are after Mr 'Olmes are dangerous. I though' you migh' need it." I nodded, and packed the rifle into my saddlebag.

"Thank you" I said to George and Freddie "For everything."

I offered them a small bag of money, but George shook his head and he and Freddie walked away. I turned to look out of the gate, hoping the next time I saw Calais would be with Holmes and Watson. I shook myself out of my reverie, and kicked Nick into a canter, then into a gallop. He really was a wonderful horse, and following the guide's markers, I quickly found my friend's path. At four o'clock, after stopping for lunch at a small village, I sighted my friends, and their guide. They were at the bottom of a hill, whereas I was at the top. They had obviously stopped for the night, so I led Nick back a little to a dip in the ground about two hundred yards from the lip of the hill. I decided this would be a good place to rest, in case my friends decided to go for a wander during the night. As night drew in, I fell asleep, wrapped in a blanket and my coat, Nick nearby and as good as any guard dog.

The next days after this were decidedly slower, as Holmes and Watson were only walking, whereas I was riding Nick. Often, when he got restless, I would have to take him for a gallop across the countryside when the walkers stopped for the night. I usually camped in the wilds, but sometimes, I could stay in pretty little inns and alehouses. One day, to my surprise, I reached an inn, and found a letter waiting for me. '_Dear Sister_' it read _'I hope I have not shocked you too much by writing to you here. I received a note from Holmes before he left, telling me where he would be staying each night, and asking if I could send him news. Holmes told me he was stopping in an inn near here, and after receiving your own letter, I thought I could safely presume you were staying in this inn. I will tell you what I told him. Most of Moriarty's gang has been captured, apart from Moran and Moriarty himself. They have gone missing, and I think they have gone after Holmes. Be careful. All my love, your brother, John'_. I felt my heart rate quicken. Holmes had wanted to draw Moriarty from London, but I think he half expected Moriarty to be caught at Dover, or Calais, or Brussels. It was only then that I realised how deeply we were in danger. But I knew I would go on. Watson would not leave Holmes, and so neither would I.

The next day, I was bid good day by my hosts and carried on with my mission. I England, the fact that I was a woman in man's clothing would be thought of as scandalous. But as I rode through France, and Belgium, and Switzerland, no one seemed to bat an eyelid. I even got rid of the hat, and took down my hair. It was nice not to look immaculate and feminine in cumbersome dresses.

For all the time I followed Holmes and Watson, I stayed a safe distance behind, making sure that they were in sight, but I couldn't be seen. However, one morning, largely due to my own oversleeping, and Holmes and Watson deciding to walk off very early, a larger distance opened up between us. I could see them, in the very far distance, and I galloped Nick for some time. Unfortunately, there was a group of tourists in between my friends and I, but soon I was a lot closer, as the tourists made off in a different direction. I was at the top of a hill, as they sat in a valley, on the slope furthest from myself, eating lunch. I breathed a sigh of relief, and dismounted from Nick, believing that, at least, my blunder had not caused any real problems.

I took out some bread and cheese for lunch, and sat against a rock, eating. Suddenly, at the bottom of the valley, in the long grasses between my friends and I, I glimpsed some sort of movement. I dropped my lunch, and went to Nick's saddle bag, where he was grazing some metres off, and took out the rifle. I went to the brow of the hill, and flattened my body to the ground, perceiving that the movement I had seen was a man, watching my friends from the grass, and edging closer and closer to them.

Suddenly, the man stopped walking, and I heard a zipping sound, which I new to be the sound of a bullet. It hit a tree near my friends, and they looked up, puzzled. I saw the man reloading a gun, and knew that I had to do something. I picked up the rifle, aimed at the man, and pulled the trigger. The man jumped up in surprise, and then fell down, dead. Both Holmes and Watson saw this, and looked up at my hill, whilst I flattened myself closer and closer into the ground.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer - I do not own Sherlock Holmes, Dr Watson, Moriarty or any of the other canonical characters. They belong to Sir Conan Doyle. 

Chapter 16

I pulled the hood of my coat over my head, and tried to stay as still as possible. My heart hammered in my chest, as I heard footsteps drawing closer and closer, and even tried not to breathe. "Nothing." I heard Watson say. I looked over the brow of the hill to see them standing on a ridge below me.

"He can't just have dropped dead of his own accord." Holmes said "He has been shot."

"But by whom?" asked Watson.

"And do they mean us good or ill?" continued Holmes "There's someone following us. And he might be working for Moriarty. Keep on your guard." Watson nodded, and both men descended the hill, walking back towards their guide, and talking amongst themselves. I stayed quite still, waiting for their voices to fade. As soon as they did, I moved backwards and positioned myself behind a rock. Looking over it, I could see right down into the bottom of the valley. My friends packed up, and started to move off. Holmes suddenly turned as they were moving, and placed a blanket over the body of the man I had shot. He looked one last time back up the hill, and seemed to sigh and make his way towards Watson.

I breathed a sigh of relief, and after they had moved out of sight, Nick and I walked down the hill, and reached the man I had shot down. I bent, and pulled up the blanket so that I could see his face. It was not Moriarty or Moran, but instead a young man only a few years older than myself. I closed my eyes, a little sickened. What had I done? I had committed murder. Or was it justifiable? I was sure it was. Or….? I shook my head. I had had to make a decision - this man or my friends, and I had chosen my friends. I knew I had made the right decision. But the face of that young man haunts me to this very day, and will, I'm sure, the rest of my life.

My friend's progress through Switzerland was leisurely, but surprisingly swift, and in a short time, they had reached the place which was obviously their intended destination - Meiringen, a small village situated by the Reichenbach Falls. The falls were meant to be some of the most beautiful in the world, and some of the highest in the Alps. My friends stayed in the Englishcher Hof Inn, whilst I stayed in a little alehouse on the other side of the village. My hosts were kind, good people, who understood my situation, and promised not to allow my two friends to know I was so near. They also gave me some new men's clothes, as well as a new hat, which did the job of disguising me admirably.

It was a beautiful, peaceful little place, but Meiringen, I knew, would soon be touched by the wickedness of Moriarty. He was coming, and was close on our trial, his express purpose being to put an end to the life of our dear friend Holmes.

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I must now, it seems, tell you of the events leading up to the ending of the battle between Moriarty and Mr Sherlock Holmes. The family of Moriarty, in particular his brother, have tried to blame Holmes for Moriarty's death, calling him a murderer. Watson wrote an article telling the world the truth, and I feel that I owe it to myself and to Holmes to write the true happenings of Holmes' battle here, in this journal.

It was a beautiful, sunny day, one of many in the Meiringen region of Switzerland, when the terrible events leading up to that last confrontation took place. I had known for some time that the shadow of Moriarty was now stretching over us, but I had not realised how near his threat was. I had just awoken from a good night's sleep, soothed by the mountain air of Switzerland. Holmes and Watson showed no sign of moving from the little village, so I had almost made up home in Meiringen. The people at the ale house, my hosts, were kind, and clearly did not mind that my stay with them had stretched from a couple of days to two weeks. They were a family, a mother and father and three children, the oldest being my age, twenty-one, and the youngest fifteen. We became steadfast friends, and they would keep me updated on Holmes and Watson's and feed Nick for me.

The night before, there had been a birthday party for the youngest child, which I had been invited to. I had not been in bed until three o'clock, so when I awoke, it was noon already. I got out of bed, washed and changed. I made my way downstairs, but was mystified to find the house completely silent. Worried, I moved quickly into the living area, where I found the mother and her three children bound and gagged, and the father covered in blood on the floor. Suddenly, I was grabbed from behind by strong hands. I managed to twist around and punch one in the nose, making him let go of me, and then floor three more men, before I felt a crashing blow on my head and fell backwards onto the floor.

When I awoke, I tried to sit up, but felt a rush of pain to my head. I fell back down again, falling back into unconsciousness. I regained consciousness a couple more times, but it was not for some time that I awoke properly. I looked over to see that the father was sitting up now to, and undoing the ropes on his wife and children. I quickly moved to help, feeling better and stronger. When we had undone the ropes, I asked "How long have I been out?"

"An hour," answered the father.

An awful thought struck me, and my blood froze "Did you see the men?"

"Yes. Four were Swiss. One was German. Two were English - a younger man with a moustache, and an older man with grey hair and a black cloak. The German called him 'Moriarty'."

"Holmes!" I exclaimed, and ran out of the door, grabbing my coat as I went. I ran to the stables, and quickly tacked Nick up. Then, I mounted quickly, and kicked the horse into a canter, turning him towards the centre of the village. I rode fast, knowing that I may be too late, cursing myself for sleeping in so long. I made my way towards the inn that Holmes and Watson were staying in, praying that they would be there. As I approached, I saw someone I did not expect - Watson! My heart leapt. If he was here, Holmes would surely not be far behind. But, there was no sign of him… Watson walked towards the Englishcher Hof inn, striding purposefully. He saw the landlord standing outside, and went to talk to him. "Where's the English lady?" he asked "I trust she's no worse?"

"What English lady?" asked the landlord.

"The one who is ill…did you not send me this letter?" Watson handed it to the landlord and the man studied it before handing it back.

"No. But it is written on hotel paper…of course! I remember…there was an old English man in here about half an hour ago. He wanted to send a message…"

Watson gasped, then turned obviously realising that he had been tricked. He turned to run back to where he had come from, and as he did so, he saw me. He looked amazed "Beth?"

I offered him my hand "Come on, Watson, quickly! We don't have much time, and Holmes' life may depend on it. Where were you headed before you were called away?"

"The falls. Reichenbach." Watson took my hand and got himself up onto Nick, who did not seem to mind the extra weight. I kicked the horse into a gallop, headed towards the falls. "What are you doing here?" asked Watson.

I kept my eyes straight ahead "I followed you."

"But Holmes…"

"Was in danger. As were you. You needed someone to watch your back. It was me who shot the sniper."

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it. I just hope…"

We reached the falls, and dismounted from Nick, running across the bridge through the waterfall. On the other side, we saw a walking stick perching on a rock. "Holmes?" murmured Watson. He ran to the side of the ravine, and started yelling his name. I, on the other hand, could not speak. My throat was dry, and I felt cold and empty. I started to shake and had to steady myself on the rock that Holmes' stick leant against. I looked across at Watson. He was yelling desperately, but there was no answering call.

I looked down, and saw something glinting in the moss that covered the rock. A silver cigarette case. Holmes' silver cigarette case. I called Watson over, and he ran back, hopefully. On seeing the cigarette case, he sighed, shakily, his voice full of tears and opened it. Inside were two squares of folded paper. Watson handed one to me. "It's for you" he said, his voice shaking, his eyes glistening with tears. He took the other square and opened it.

I unfolded my letter, and read. _'To my dear Miss Hardy - Beth,'_ it read _'I am writing this letter to you thanks to the courtesy of Professor Moriarty. I have written one to my dear friend Watson, and now I must write one to you. I know that you followed us to Meiringen, and that you saved our lives from the sniper, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It is due to your courage then, that I am able now to end the influence of Moriarty and finish the fight between us. I always knew that Moriarty's death would have to mean, undoubtedly, my own, and I only regret one thing. That is that I did not say goodbye to you properly in London. You are, my dear Beth, a singularly gifted young woman, and for these past years, neither Watson nor indeed, myself could have possibly have been without you. You have changed my view of women, my dear girl, and I thank you for that. I pray for you two things - remember me, and have a wonderful life. You deserve that. I have bequeathed all my property to Watson, and know that if you wish to stay in Baker Street, he will let you. But my dear child, do not dwell in the past. Remember me, and move on. I am very sincerely yours, and your friend, Sherlock Holmes.'_

At the end of the letter, I looked up, and saw that Watson was sitting on the rock, his head in his hands, crying. I moved over to him, and put my arms around his shoulders, and I started to cry too. My heart was full, and yet strangely empty. I looked over to the raging waterfall, and closed my eyes. I could almost hear his screams as he fell down the falls. To think that our friend, the great detective, had died such an awful death, and that he laid not in the memorial of a hero, as he should have done, but next to that monster, Moriarty, for the rest of time. The rest of that day was a blur. I remember Watson looking after me, and getting a train to Calais, but not much else.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer - I still do not own any of the canonical characters, much to my consternation. 

Chapter 17

After the events at Reichenbach, both Watson and I returned to London, but we just could not stay in Baker Street. For both of us, the sorrow was too much. We would walk around the house and it would feel so empty. The atmosphere was oppressive, like something had sucked all the warmth out of the place we had both loved so much. We only stayed a month after Holmes' fall. I moved into the London home of my aunt and uncle, whilst Watson immersed himself in his surgery, working long hours and hard days, and living in the rooms above the surgery. We hardly saw each other, and I can only describe our actions as a kind of depression.

Whilst Watson buried himself in his work, I allowed myself to be carted around the London society circuit. I went to hundreds of balls, and had numerous suitors, each of whom I turned down, but all I felt was a complete numbness inside myself. It was like a part of myself had plunged into the ravine at the Reichenbach Falls that day. More positively, it was not just Watson I saw nothing of. Moran and his associates seemed to disappear too. Most were captured by the police in the year after the loss of Holmes, but Moran evaded capture. He stayed instead, on the very edges of London society, visiting a few parties, but not drawing attention to himself.

For me, time moves quickly when grief surrounds you, and soon, it was the eve of my 24th Birthday, just under three years since we had lost Holmes. I was at a ball at the house in London, a ball held in my honour. I went around the room greeting my guests like a dutiful hostess, all the time wearing a mask of jollity. Inside though, I was bored, sad and cringing at the dress that I had allowed my aunt to force me into - a flouncy, frilly pale pink dress, with a fashionably low neckline, only a shade off indecent, and white gloves. My hair was arranged ornately on the top of my head, and I thought I looked ghastly. But I simply did not have the energy to put up much of a fight. I danced with the smarmiest men in the room, most of them old enough to be my father, some old enough to be my grandfather. All the way through the party, I could not help remembering my twenty-first birthday, spent with Holmes, Watson, Johnnie and Mrs Hudson, a simple affair in Baker Street. Holmes and Watson had asked whether I wanted to go out for the evening, but I had refused, saying that I would prefer the five of us to sit down for dinner together. My twenty-first had to have been one of the happiest days of my life. How I wished for it again!

Halfway through the ball, my aunt pulled me into a side room, and rounded on me "You, my girl, are going to be married." I opened my mouth to protest, but was silenced by one look from her. "I promise you my girl, I will not have all this impudence from you. You are twenty four years old. It is time you were married." She turned to the back of the room, "And here is your husband."

To my horror, Moran emerged from the shadows, and took my hand, squeezing uncomfortably hard. "Hello, my dear." I tried to back away, but to no avail. Moran's arms were tightly around me, as he pulled me closely into him. I felt his hot, stale breathe on my face. "You will submit to me," he said, his teeth clenched.

"Never."

"Brave words, but no more than that, just words." He kissed me hard on the lips, as I tried in vain to pull away from him.

My aunt spoke up, "Come Moran, let us announce the good news." Moran nodded, and let me go, and followed her out of the room. Utterly spent, I collapsed onto a nearby seat. I put my head in my hands and sobbed.

I was roused by my brother entering the room. "I thought I'd find you here," he said, and came to sit next to me. "You don't have to marry him, you know."

I turned on him, angry "Don't I? I can see no way out."

"You could run."

"Where? I have no where to go."

"Watson…"

"…Would be in danger if I went to him."

John's face clouded. He looked at me in disbelief. "You are just going to let it happen, aren't you?" I looked him in the eyes, and said nothing. John's voice rose. "You've given up. Just because Holmes is dead, doesn't mean you have to just let anything happen to you. He told you to get on with your life - not live as unhappily as you can! Does his memory mean so little to you?" He got up "You have to move on, sister. And grow up! You cannot ruin the rest of your life because you lost someone." He walked out of the room, leaving me to my tears. The next day, the papers were full of our engagement, and intended marriage in one fortnight's time.

That week, I spent most of my time as far away from people I knew as possible. I did not talk to my brother, my cousins or my aunt and uncle, or for that matter, my fiancé. I spent my time, as I had all those years ago, when first in London in the libraries and museums, trying desperately not to think about my future - or Moran - and failing completely. I felt I should die from the absolute hopelessness of the situation. At the same time, I felt utter disgust at myself. I had become the kind of woman my mother, father and indeed, Holmes, had scoffed at. But I could not find the strength to change my fate.

During the week before my marriage, a murder took place, that of a young gentleman, Ronald Adair, who was the heir of a great fortune, and only twenty-three years old. He had been found by his mother, on the Monday morning, shot through the head. It was an impossible murder, with no motive and no possible way of taking place. Everyone had liked Ronald, including myself. I had met him twice during balls, and danced with him. We were not close, him being a year younger than me effectively discounting him as a potential suitor in my aunt's eyes, but he was a good man. To his murder, there was simply no solution. I had heard that Watson was to be the police doctor on the caser, but I am afraid to say that my planned nuptials to Moran rather occupied me, despite all my efforts to forget them.

On the Friday of that week, two days before my marriage, when I should really have been preparing my wardrobe, I went to the British museum to spend the day. I stayed there for at least seven hours, and it was five o'clock before anything happened to disturb me. I had another hour to occupy myself before my cab came for me, so I decided to re-visit the 'Tudor' section. I was immersed in the exhibits, when I looked up to see Moran walking towards me, smiling nastily. My heart filled with dread, but my feet seemed as though they were fastened to the floor. I simply couldn't move. He walked up to me, and took my hand "Why are you here, my dear? This is not the place for a woman who is to be married in only a few days time."

Something snapped. That is all I can describe it as. It was like a line had been drawn tighter and tighter inside me, by every one of his smirks, his snide comments about Holmes and his kisses. This assertion that I was to be married to him, a man who I could never love, for all of eternity snapped the line. I wanted to be happy, like Holmes had told me to be. And for the first time in three years, I would do as he wanted me to do. I would do something about this sorry state of affairs, and try to make myself happy. I pulled my hands away from him, and stamped, hard on his foot. He yelled out in pain, and I ran, him following a little way behind, but held up by some museum visitors. I ran out of the museum, and down the street, into the park, trying not to think about the stories of young women being brutally murdered by madmen as they walked alone in the dark, but I did slow my pace down a little. I could not hear Moran behind me, and I looked back hoping not to see him pursuing me. I saw nothing.

As I looked behind me, I did not see what was going on in front, and walked straight into an old man, a book seller, scattering his books all over the place. I bent down hastily, saying "sorry" and helped him pick his books up. There was something strangely familiar about the old man, but I could not quite place him. Suddenly, I heard a shout and both the old man and I looked up. Moran was running towards me, his eyes flashing in anger. I gasped in horror, and started to run, but did not get very far before Moran caught up with me, grabbing my arm, and pushing me up against a tree.

"You'll pay" he screamed angrily "You'll pay for disrespecting me." I screamed, and he laughed evilly "No one can hear you scream, girl." All of a sudden, he pulled away in pain. The old man had straightened up, to stand at more than six foot tall and punched Moran in the back, then in the face, and the stomach. Moran fell to the ground, unconscious.

I could not think about the old man, nor summon up enough strength to thank him. I fell to my knees. I was sobbing hard, almost in hysterics, and I found one name escaping my lips. A name which signified safety and security to me. Holmes. I was sobbing so hard, I did not care about what the old man thought of me. And I didn't notice that he was removing a false nose, wig, teeth and eyebrows, and taking off a baggy cape, to reveal an immaculate black suit, on a tall, angular figure. He got down on his knees to be on the same level as me, and placed two hands on my shoulders. Then, a familiar voice murmured "It's alright, child, don't cry. Beth…"

I looked up, and looked into the man's face. My mind went blank. It could not be…and yet it was. What? Why? "Holmes?" I said. For there he was. Kneeling on the ground opposite me, smiling gently. I felt overwhelming happiness come over me. He was alive! I forgot all my teaching on propriety, manners and etiquette. I even forgot that Holmes was not an demonstrative person. I flung my arms around his neck. Holmes seemed a little surprised, and tensed, but then I felt his arms tighten around me, as I cried tears of joy into the shoulder of his suit. We knelt there until another feeling entered my heart. Anger. He was alive, and yet he had let us suffer under the illusion that he was dead! I pulled away quickly, Holmes must have seen the anger in my eyes, because he sighed.

"Back to Baker Street." He said. "It is not safe to discuss things here."

"Watson?"

"I have already spoken to him. I hope he will be at Baker Street when we get back…"

I nodded, and we got up from our knees, dusting ourselves down. Holmes offered me his arm, but I declined, the anger inside me growing quickly, as we started on the walk back to Baker Street.


	18. Chapter 18

Hi! I'm so sorry about the massive wait you have all had for my next chapter. I've been away from the internet for a few weeks, and then I got really ill when I came back. But now, I am completely recovered, and ready to write the next few chapters. (For those of you who have forgotten, Holmes has returned from his hiatus to find Beth engaged to Colonel Moran. He saves her from Moran, who is attacking her, but after initial feelings of joy, Beth realises how angry she is at him) 

Thank you to everyone who has given such good reviews. I hope you enjoy the next few chapters!

Disclaimer - Most of the characters are owned by the wonderful Sir Conan Doyle. I'm merely borrowing them. Beth, however, is mine.

Chapter 18

As we walked the streets of London, back towards the place we both had once called home, I could almost not even bear to look at Holmes, such was the anger seething inside me. My head was full of questions and pre-occupations, and it only occurred to me later that Holmes looked agitated, even frightened. He was looking around like some hunted beast trying to retire into safety. I probably would have felt pity for him if I had seen his fear, but instead, all I felt was cold fury.

We reached Baker Street a few minutes later, and were met by Mrs Hudson, who seemed to have seen Mr Holmes earlier in the day. She watched me closely, apparently perceiving my anger and hurt, and followed the two of us up the stairs, where Holmes turned to her "Is Watson back yet?"

"No, Mr Holmes. I haven't seen him."

Holmes dismissed her and turned to me. "Watson…"

"Did you really blame him for not being here?"

Holmes looked at me "Yes…"

"Yes?" My voice rose, and Holmes studied me. I had never felt so angry in his presence before. I could feel my fists clenching and my heart thudding in my chest, as I tried to control myself.

"Yes." Holmes seemed quite definite on that point. "Why are you both so angry? Surely you should be pleased to see me after three years."

"For heaven's sake Holmes! You lied to the both of us. Do you really expect us to welcome you back here, no questions asked?"

"I never lied to you!" Holmes' voice rose too. Suddenly we were both shouting, raging at each other in a most improper manner, but neither of us cared.

"You made us believe you were dead!"

"I had to!"

"And you couldn't have told us, that you were going into hiding?"

"No. It had to be kept secret!"

"We wouldn't have told anyone!"

"Yes you would. Sooner or later, you would have told someone, whether it be your brother or one of Watson's friends, that I was alive. And then you would have been in danger as much as me. I couldn't chance that my enemies would try to get to me through the two of you!"

"You didn't trust us?"

"In a word? No."

I stood staring at him for a moment, and then stepped forward, and slapped him round the face. He looked at me in disbelief, as I shouted "How dare you! How dare you say that you couldn't trust us. We had to live three years without you Holmes! Three years where it felt like we were half dead with the sorrow and grief of it all. Three years where it didn't matter to us what happened or even whether we were dead or alive. Neither of us could bear to even look at each other because just looking at each other would remind us of you. We wouldn't have cared, Holmes if we were in danger, as long as we could have known that you were safe and well. It was three years, Holmes! Three years of…" I broke off, hot, angry tears streaming down my face. I shook my head and sat down onto the couch, unable to carry on.

Holmes stared at me for a moment, and then came and sat down on the seat beside me. I had my head in my hands, but I felt his hand on my back. "Three years of what?" he said, his voice gentler than I had ever heard it before.

I straightened my back and looked into his face. "Three years of being completely and utterly alone." Holmes looked at me in distress, as I continued "It felt like I was alone in some dark cave, and all I felt was a numbness inside of me. I had to act like some girl who wanted to be married and have all these parties and things, and yet all I wanted was things back the way that they were. I've been so afraid, Holmes. Afraid of Moran, yes, but more of myself. Afraid because I had no idea what I would agree to next. Because I didn't care, Holmes. All I wanted was not to be lonely, even if it meant not being happy. And now it's too late. I will have to marry Moran."

Holmes looked me in the face, his hand still on my back, and said "No. No, you won't. Watson and I will not allow it." He took his hand away and massaged his forehead. "I never thought about the consequences of my actions on the people I loved best in this world. All I could think was that I had been given an opportunity to get away, and keep the two of you safe. I'm so sorry, Beth."

I nodded my head, and wiped my tears away. "I know. I know you only left because you had to. I am so glad that you have come back, Holmes. I have not been so happy in a long time - you must not think that I am not overjoyed to see you."

"It is natural that your happiness should manifest itself in anger, as mine does in guilt. I am sure that we shall both feel much better when Watson is here, and Moran is dealt with." He looked up "and one of them has just entered the house."

The door opened, and Watson entered. He smiled when he saw me, and walked over to hug me tightly. Then, he turned to Holmes. "I'm sorry, Holmes. For storming out like that."

Holmes placed a hand on Watson's shoulder "There is nothing to apologise for. The fault is all mine. You and Beth have made me see that. I hope you can both forgive me. My actions towards you were deplorable."

"Of course we forgive you" said Watson "Although really there is nothing to forgive you for."

"I agree." I said, "Now Holmes, please enlighten us upon how you have managed to fool the whole world into believing you dead!"

Holmes grinned, and we sat in our usual seats, as he proceeded to tell us of his fight with Moriarty, his climb up the waterfall, his viewing of us from the look-out post he had found, and then, his flight from the friend of Moriarty's who shot at him. He then enlightened us on his three years away, travelling as an explorer named Sigerson. Then, lastly, he told us of the reasons for his return.

"So, Moran killed Ronald Adair?" Holmes nodded "Yes." He looked at me "You knew him?" he asked.

I stared, smiling at him for a minute "Now how on earth did you know that?"

He grinned "I thought you would. He doesn't move in the same circles as us, does he, Watson?"

I nodded "Yes, I did. He was a good man. To young to be killed in such a fashion". Holmes smiled, but a wave of anxiety seemed to pass over his features. I had noticed that he had seemed nervous ever since we had returned. "Holmes? Are you alright?" I asked, my voice a little quiet. I knew that he must be worried about Moran, but I felt absolute terror whenever I thought of him.

Holmes smiled at me gently, and used a voice I had never heard him use before "Don't fret child. It's just that I am expecting a visitor quite soon who will probably want to kill me."

"Moran," said Watson. He got up, and walked over to the fireplace, picking up a sharp poker. "Well, if he tries…"

Holmes seemed genuinely touched by Watson's defensiveness, but said "Watson, my dear fellow, kindly put that poker down before you do yourself and injury, and sit. I have no intention of being murdered by Moran." Watson sat, but I noticed that his hand had edged to be within grabbing distance of the poker, which he had laid by his chair. Holmes noticed this too, and lifted one eyebrow, but said nothing.

All of a sudden, the door flew open and Moran burst into the lounge. Behind him, Mrs Hudson lay on the floor, her hand to a wound on her head. I jumped up as Moran ran towards my chair, but Holmes spoke calmly "Sit down, Beth. And you sir, sit. Watson, kindly put that poker down, and pay attention." I looked up and Holmes and felt a rush of admiration for him, but I didn't do as he said. Instead, I hurried past Moran to kneel next to Mrs Hudson, handing her the shawl I had been wearing for her wound. Moran watched me, but when he saw that I was too scared to pose much of a threat, he turned back to scowl at Holmes, snarling like a tiger. Holmes' eyebrows shot up, and he said, in the same calm, clear voice "I perceive that you have no intention of sitting, so neither will I. May I ask the reason for this intrusion?"

Moran looked angrily at Holmes "You know the reason for this 'intrusion'. First, you kill my friend and master, then you come back just as I was about to get away with the murder of that young whelp, Ronald Adair, and now you take my betrothed from me." He swung around to look at me, and I stepped backwards "but if I can't have you no one will."

"Beth was never your betrothed, Moran. She is far too good for you." Moran grimaced and pulled a gun from his cloak. It was a beautiful piece of machinery, but also terribly deadly. I realised with a jolt that he was pointing it at Holmes, but Holmes showed no fear "I don't think that's very wise, do you? To kill me in front of witnesses?"

Moran laughed, and turned to point the gun at Watson. I saw a flicker of panic in Holmes' face. "I will kill them too" Moran motioned for me to go and stand next to Holmes and Watson. "I didn't come with enough bullets just for you."

Holmes stepped forward "You came for me, Moran, not them. Kill me if you must, but spare them."

Moran grinned horribly, and turned his attentions to me. He walked forward to stand in front of me, then grabbed my by my hair, and kissed me. I pulled away, and placed a hand on Holmes' arm to stop him doing something stupid. "She will die. She has made a fool of me." I scowled at him, and he turned to Watson "And as for your faithful guard dog, do you really think that if I kill the two of you, he will not tell the police of my crimes? He will, and so I will kill him in front of your very eyes."

He pointed the gun at Watson's head, as Holmes said "No. Please…"

Moran laughed "The great Sherlock Holmes, pleading for the lives of his friends. How touching. On a lesser man it would work. But not on m…" But his words were cut short by a bang, and he fell forward onto the floor in front of us. Behind him stood Mrs Hudson, brandishing a large marble ornament, which had been on the sideboard.

We all stood staring at her, before Holmes walked forward, and rather uncharacteristically kissed her hand. "You are indeed a most wonderful woman." he said "Now, if you would please call Inspector Lestrade…"

"Already done, Mr Holmes"

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson" said Watson.

I grinned, as Inspector Lestrade walked through the door. He looked completely shocked, but said "Well, Mr Holmes! The stories are true! It is you. We've heard all about Moran and his little exploits. We'll take him, if you don't mind."

Holmes looked distastefully at Moran "There are other things I'd rather have adorning my rug."

Lestrade smiled "Of course, Mr Holmes." Two big, burly policemen entered and picked up Moran. "I'll take my leave, if you don't mind, Mr Holmes" said the Inspector "You've already caused me enough paperwork tonight."

Moran came too, and scowled evilly at Holmes "I'll see you dead for this, Holmes."

"That" Holmes answered "I'm sure will be my pleasure."


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer - I have not come into a vast fortune. I still do not own Sherlock Holmes and any of the other Arthur Conan Doyle characters. 

**Chapter 19**

In the months after Holmes' return to Baker Street, we were terribly busy, with people coming everyday with new cases and problems for the great Holmes - the man who had cheated death! He was frequently out on cases, often taking the two of us with him, but sometimes going alone. While he was out, Watson would pass the time at his surgery, whilst I would either visit Johnnie and go riding on the Sevenacres estate or read the one of the massive selection of books that Watson owned. It was also part of the routine of Watson and myself to go for a walk in Regent's Park in the evening, before dinner. One day, we returned from the Park to be met by Mrs Hudson.

"Is dinner ready yet?" Watson asked "I haven't eaten all day."

"I'm sorry Doctor" Mrs Hudson answered "But I'm afraid Mr Holmes is in one of his moods again. He's asked me not to bring up his dinner until he calls."

Watson looked quite scandalised, and I laughed at the look on his face. We both walked up the stairs, Watson muttering to himself about being "terribly hungry." We reached the door of the lounge and Watson opened it. Inside, we saw Holmes standing staring out of the window, and an elderly gentleman sitting on the couch, smoking a cigar. As the door opened, both men looked around. "Oh, sorry," said Watson "We didn't realise…"

"Come in Watson, Miss Hardy. This gentleman was just telling me of a pretty little problem that he has." He spun around to introduce us. "Sir James Damery, these are my friends and colleagues Dr. John Watson, and Miss Elisabeth Hardy. You may speak in front of them as freely as you speak to me."

Sir James nodded, and we all sat, to hear his account. "Mr Holmes, I am working on behalf of a client who wishes to remain anonymous at this particular time. He is the guardian of a young lady, a very beautiful young lady, who is in her early twenties. Mr Holmes, you have heard of the Austrian Baron Adelbert Gruner?" Holmes nodded, grimly "And you've heard of the rumours which surround him?"

"That he murdered his wife and the young shepherd boy who saw him do it? Of his dubious actions toward a number of beautiful women? Yes."

"Then you know the kind of man that he is, and why the marriage of the young lady to Baron Gruner must not take place. My client wishes you to convince the lady not to marry Gruner."

"This is not usually my line…"

"You will be paid handsomely."

"I have one fixed rate for all of my investigations. I am a detective, Sir Damery, not a consultant for young ladies who are too silly to know the threats that surround them."

"Mr Holmes, imagine for a moment, would you, that it were Miss Hardy who was to be married to the Baron. Would you not do all in your power to stop her?"

"I know that Miss Hardy would have the sense not to get involved with such a man. Sir Damery, why did you come to me?"

"A number of reasons. Firstly, it was my client's wish. Secondly, your reputation is that of the greatest detective in all of London. Thirdly, there is a possibility that the young lady will listen to you. You are young, Mr Holmes, in comparison to myself and my client. She may be more likely to listen to a man closer to her in her own age than either of us. Is that enough reasons for you?"

Holmes sighed, and glanced, for a second, at me, before saying "Yes. I will help you, Sir Damery."

Sir Damery then turned his gaze at me "You will help him, Miss Hardy? You may be more disposed to change Violet's mind…"

I nodded, and the gentleman gave Holmes the lady's name and address, before leaving us. After he left, Holmes seemed electrified into action. He rushed to his desk, and scribbled something onto a sheet on paper, and folded it up. He then run to Mrs Hudson, who was told as soon as she came in the door to send the letter off with Freddie to Shinwell Johnson, a friend of ours. "If anyone" said Holmes "Knows a person who will help us bring Gruner down, it's Johnson." He turned to us, and quickly chivvied us out of the room "I must have quiet".

"But what about dinner?" asked Watson, clearly distressed.

"Thank you for your concern, Watson" said Holmes, sarcastically "but I am not hungry. I am sure that if you are, Mrs Hudson will make you a sandwich. Goodnight" and he closed the door in our dumbstruck faces.

"A sandwich!" cried Watson. He started down the stairs. "There'll be something more extensive in the kitchen. You want anything?"

"No, I'm alright," I answered, yawning "Goodnight, Watson." I made my way upstairs, and sat on my bed, reading. I was so immersed in the tale, that before I knew what was happening, I heard the clock toll eleven. In the room opposite mine, Watson had already gone to bed, and I was quite sure Mrs Hudson had too. I was about to get changed, when I heard Holmes moving about downstairs. I sighed, knowing that the insomnia that was plaguing him would now plague me too, as my room was directly under the lounge, and decided to go and make myself something to eat, as my stomach was now growling loudly. I left my room, and saw heard Holmes leaving the lounge and going down the stairs to the front door. To my surprise, he was in his coat and hat, and seemed just about to leave. I wondered for a moment where he was going, and I am ashamed to say that curiosity got the better of me. As soon as he closed the door behind him, I ran down the stairs, pulled on a coat and shoes, opened the door quietly, and went after him, into the blackness.

Now I know that this is not the wisest thing to do. I also knew that if Holmes caught me, he would rebuke me most harshly. But I also felt excited, and curious, wanting to see the way that Holmes worked when he didn't have the two of us to burden him. I followed him for about two miles, always keeping a short way behind, but always in sight of him, just in case. We seemed to have reached our destination, a tall and imposing town house, when Holmes rang the doorbell, and after a consultation with the butler, was allowed admittance into the house. I stayed outside, watching and waiting. After twenty minutes of seeing nothing particularly exciting, I started to daydream, and did not hear the door of the house open. It was only when I walked straight into Holmes that I realised that he was outside. He cried out in surprise, and grabbed me by the throat, pushing me into the light under a street lamp. As soon as he saw it was me, he let me go. "Beth?"

I massaged the now sore skin around my throat "A little jumpy today, are we Holmes?"

To my surprise, he seemed more relieved and amused than angry "What are you doing here?"

"I followed you. Why did you try and throttle me?"

Holmes smiled dryly "As your guardian, I must say that you should not be out at this hour. But, I am glad it is you that I stumbled over." He offered me his arm, and I took it. "Now, I will deliver you back to Baker Street."

"Whose house is that?"

"It is Baron Gruner's"

"You have been to see him? Why did you do that? You know how dangerous he is. You should have allowed Watson and I to join you."

"I did not want to draw unnecessary attention to the two of you."

"Well, thank you for the consideration, Holmes, but perhaps I enjoy the danger"

Holmes flung back his head and laughed. "Yes, you do, I believe. Having a friend who enjoys danger is a great asset to the detective."

"What did Gruner say?"

"Nothing of consequence."

"Holmes…"

Holmes looked at me in amusement "Can I keep nothing to myself?" I laughed and shook my head "He threatened me in a most ungentlemanly manner."

"Threatened you? With what?"

"With death."

"Rather overreaching himself, isn't he?"

"I think not." I looked up at him. He continued "But there is nothing to worry yourself with."

I shook my head "Has anyone ever told you how patronising you are, Holmes?"

"I am told it frequently. But I mean no harm by it, Beth. You are one woman who I know it foolish to patronise, and the only who I find it easy to respect."

I smiled, a little embarrassed at this, and we carried on in easy silence. When we reached Baker Street, Holmes took my coat, and we walked up the stairs, him stopping at the first floor, me carrying on to the second. When we reached the first floor landing, Holmes said "Goodnight. I will tell you the rest about Gruner tomorrow morning. Sleep well."

"And you, Holmes. Goodnight." I made my way upstairs, but was aware of Holmes watching me, thoughtfully. I turned, and he looked away, walking into the lounge and closing the door behind him. I shook my head in confusion, and went into my room, to get some sleep.

The next morning, I was awoken by the sound of Watson leaving his bedroom. Groaning, and wishing that I had not stayed up so late, but also not wanting to miss what Holmes would say about Gruner, I got myself up, washed and dressed, and went down to breakfast. I was met by not only Holmes and Watson, but also Johnson, and a young woman, who looked about the same age as me. We exchanged greetings, and I retrieved myself a piece of toast with marmalade, and this morning's paper. Johnson though, talked of something more important than any of the day's headlines, and I put down the paper. Johnson was a jovial man, short and stocky, and despite being an ex-criminal, was one of the kindest and nicest men I knew. He introduced the young lady as Miss Kitty Winter, an ex-artist's model, and one of Gruner's old mistresses. She was very pretty, with long, auburn hair, in a modern style, hanging down one side of her neck. Kitty told us that Gruner had ensured that she would not work again, but said no more of the subject, but it felt like she was holding something back. "Gruner is an evil man" said Holmes "When I visited him last night, I realised that." Holmes glanced at me, but said nothing about my following him, which I was pleased about. I was sure that Watson would take a much dimmer view of last night's wanderings than Holmes did.

"You went to see him?" asked Watson "What happened?"

"He told me he has a hold over the girl that none of us can undo. A hold next to hypnotic. And he threatened me with death and destruction if I attempted anything. Now, we must go."

"Where to?" I asked

"Violet de Merville's house. You will join me, Beth, and you Miss Winter?" Watson and Johnson started to speak, but Holmes put up a hand "Stay here. We will be perfectly safe."

The three of us went down the stairs, and Holmes hailed us a cab. Holmes helped Kitty and I into the cab, before getting in himself, to sit in the vacant seat opposite us. I liked Kitty very much. She was the same age as me, quite quiet but friendly. The journey went quickly, and soon we were at the de Merville house. It was grand and right in the centre of the Belgravia district of London. It was quite beautiful on the outside, but as soon as I entered, I determined that I liked Baker Street much better. This house felt cold and emotionless, and had an air of menace about it. The butler led us through the vast house to a grand reception room, where the lady was waiting.

Just as I liked Kitty the moment I saw her, I disliked Miss de Merville as soon as I set eyes on her. She was snobbish and terrifyingly beautiful, with golden curled hair, and hard blue eyes, that seemed to scowl at everything she saw. She greeted us coldly and rather impolitely. She obviously looked down on us all. Kitty after all was little more than a street girl, I was, rather noticeably, wearing my cousin's hand-me-downs, and Holmes was a detective, with no fancy title to recommend him.

Holmes tried everything to plead with Violet not to marry Gruner. He told her of the rumours surrounding her choice of husband, but the girl had obviously been well prepared by her fiancé. She was as hard-hearted a girl as I ever met, as well as stubborn, and accused Holmes and I of fabricating the tales to cast a bad light on Gruner. But she saved most of her venom for poor Kitty. "I assume" she said "That you bought this person here for some reason other than just to stand there." I bit my tongue to stop myself retorting something I shouldn't. Kitty stepped forward and started to plead passionately with Violet not to marry Gruner, that he would treat her just as he treated Kitty, like an object to be thrown away when he had done with her. "Liar!" hissed Violet, maliciously.

I stepped forward, but Holmes held onto my arm, and gave me 'a look', which stopped me in my tracks. Kitty carried on, "He's a monster!"

"No!"

Kitty looked terrifically angry, and started to cry tears of rage. She pulled away her hair, to display terrible burns on her face and neck, and unbuttoned the neck of her dress to show the burns' continuation to her chest. "This is what your precious fiancé did to me!"

There was silence for a moment, as the three of us looked, shocked at Kitty. Violet was the first to break the silence, as she said, with a mocking smile "You little liar".

Kitty turned and ran from the room. Leaving the three of us standing her. I called Kitty's name, and turned to Violet "You deserve him." I ran out of the room after Kitty, and found her at the carriage, crying. I put my arm around her, and ushered her gently into the carriage.

Holmes emerged from the house a minute later, and got into the carriage, just as I managed to calm Kitty down. "Why did he harm you so?" I asked her.

"He has a book" Kitty sobbed "A diary of sorts. He keeps details of all of us in there - all the women he's kept. He tried to get me to look at it once, but I refused - I couldn't do it. He got so angry, and left the room. I tried to get dressed, but he came back before I could, properly, and threw a bottle of acid all over me. Now I can never work again." She descended into new tears, and I kept my arm around her shoulders. Holmes met my eyes, then averted his face to look out of the carriage window, seemingly unknowing of what to say.

That evening, Holmes, Watson and I ate at one of Watson's favourite restaurants. Watson could not believe that Violet could be so hard of heart, even when faced with the evidence of poor Kitty. After the meal, it was dark, but not late - about seven or eight in the evening. Watson went off to his surgery, to catch up with some paperwork, I was met by Johnnie, and we went off together to see an open air operetta in one of the parks, and Holmes made his way back, along the Thames, to Baker Street.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer - I do not own Sherlock Holmes, or any of the other characters in the Sherlock Holmes books. I do own Elisabeth. 

Thank you everyone for all your kind reviews. They are all very gratefully received.

**MoonlitPuddle** - Don't worry, Kitty gets a little more fiery in this chapter. I love her character - she just seems so almost 'out of place' in the Holmes canon.

**Chapter 20**

Johnnie and I started to walk down the street towards the park, when my brother stopped and let out a rather loud exclamation.

"Johnnie!" I said, chuckling "What's wrong with you?"

"I've just remembered that I said I'd pick up a book for Mary from the bookshop near 221B. Do you mind if we go back? I'm terribly sorry"

I grinned "Of course I don't mind. Anyway, I think for both of our reputations, we need to get away from here. Honestly, Johnnie, cursing in the street! Did our aunt teach you nothing?"

"Nothing I'd care to remember."

"Well, come on then, hurry up, and we might catch up with Holmes."

John nodded, and we both made our way quickly into the backstreets which led to the towpath alongside the River Thames. We walked along, hoping to get off the path as quickly as possible. It was not the most desirable area of London to be in, especially after dark. As we walked down the path, we saw that ahead there was a fight taking place. Two men with sticks were attacking a third man, who fell to the floor, after trying, rather bravely to defend himself. As we watched, one of the men picked the poor injured man up, and started to beat him in the stomach with the sticks, and with their fists. Johnnie got hold of my arm and whispered "Perhaps we should get out of here."

I looked up at him "Johnnie, that man's in trouble. We should help him." Johnnie nodded, rather reluctantly, and we drew nearer. As we came closer to the scene, I saw the victim more clearly. He was a young man, no older than thirty, tall and angular, with black hair, and a black suit…

"Holmes!" I yelled, and ran towards the scene, closely followed by John. Holmes' two attackers looked up at us, and fled as we approached, and I reached Holmes just as he stumbled and fell to the ground. He really was in an awful state. His face was cut, and bruises had started to appear and his suit was covered in blood and ripped around the elbows and knees.

"Wait here!" John said "I'll go and get some help to get him to a hospital"

I nodded, but looked down, as Holmes muttered "No. Take me back to Baker Street…call Watson…if I must have a doctor…"

John glanced at me, and I nodded, a little hesitantly. "Go and get some help, John. We can't carry him all by ourselves."

"I'll be back soon." John ran off, towards the more populated areas of the city.

I pulled off my coat, and put it under Holmes' head "It's alright," I said "Johnnie will be back soon." I took a handkerchief from my pocket, and wiped the worst of the blood from Holmes' face.

"Gruner…" He muttered, but it was obvious that speaking caused him some pain.

"Shh…It's alright" I put a hand, lightly on his arm, conscious that any pressure on his skin could hurt him "I know. Don't worry about that now. We'll get you back to Baker Street, and then Watson will look after you."

Holmes took hold of my other hand, and said weakly "You'll…stay…?"

"Of course I will."

Holmes nodded, but kept hold of my hand. "Beth…" I looked down as he murmured my name "thank you…"

I smiled, and without really realising what I was doing, I stroked the hair on his forehead "It's alright. Don't say anymore. Just try not to fall asleep."

Holmes nodded. We stayed there for about another five minutes, until John came back with five or six strong looking men, who were all promised twenty shillings if they could help us take Holmes back to Baker Street. They carried him surprisingly gently, and before long, we reached Baker Street, and I unlocked the door. Mrs Hudson came to the door, and looked in horror at the sight of Holmes. "Mrs Hudson" said John "Send for Watson. He'll know what to do." Mrs Hudson nodded, and ran out of the front door. Meanwhile the men delivered Holmes to his bed, collected their money, and left. I sat on the side of Holmes' bed, feeling not a little helpless, but trying to stop the rapidly bleeding cuts on Holmes' arms. Before long, Watson arrived, summoned by Mrs Hudson.

He managed to dress Holmes cuts and bruises, and stitch some of the deeper ones, with me assisting him. It took a few hours to clean Holmes up, and when we were done, it was about midnight. John was about to take his lead, when Holmes called out to him "Mr Hardy?"

John glanced at me, and came to stand near to Watson and myself "Yes?"

"I would be greatly obliged to you, Mr Hardy, if you would tell the journalists outside the door that I am teetering on the brink of death"

"Holmes, do not be so morbid." Watson said, sternly "You are not going to die. Most of your wounds are just surface wounds and bruises. You're lucky, but not dying."

"I know that Watson, and we know that, but Gruner does not. And Watson…"

"Holmes?"

"Make sure Johnson takes Miss Winter into the country somewhere."

"Of course, Holmes."

Johnnie left with his message telling the press outside that Holmes was in a very bad way - a report which would find it's way into the paper the next day. Meanwhile, Watson and I stayed in the lounge, too nervous to sleep, Watson armed with a handgun, I with the poker, just in case any of Gruner's mercenaries might try to finish Holmes off. Holmes, on the other hand, slept very well, and laughed when we entered his room in the morning, yawning and rubbing our eyes "I thought I was meant to be the invalid. You both look terrible!"

"What are we to do, Holmes?" asked Watson. "You can't go and get Gruner. We'll have to."

Holmes studied the two of us for a moment, and then said "It will be dangerous…"

"We don't care" said Watson. I nodded my head in agreement.

"Very well. I wish you to take twenty-four hours to learn all you can about Chinese pottery."

"Chinese Pottery?" I asked, exchanging looks with Watson. Holmes had obviously had a bigger bump to the head than either of us realised.

"I am serious, Beth." Holmes smiled at the puzzled looks on our faces "Gruner keeps a collection of it. You will gain entry to his house in that way." We both nodded, and spent a whole day and night devouring books about Chinese pottery (not the most interesting subject in the world.) The next day, after a few hours of sleep, we went into Holmes' room where we were given a genuine piece of Ming pottery, and a calling card, styling us as Dr and Mrs Hill Barton. "You are a newly married couple with an interest in Chinese pottery. You have received a piece of pottery from a deceased family member, and wish to enquire as to whether he will buy it."

We both nodded, bade our farewells to Holmes, and left in a cab for Gruner's house. I could not help thinking as we left that someone was following us, but I dismissed the feeling as nerves, and tried to occupy my mind with thoughts of Chinese pottery.

When we got to the house, we introduced ourselves, as Holmes had suggested, and were made to wait a few minutes. I must confess that I was terrified, but I composed myself with thoughts of Holmes, and the advice he had given us. Keep to the story…stay alert…try to maintain eye contact with Gruner. Gruner seemed keen to talk to us, and allowed us entry to his study, where he kept his collection. He seemed quite friendly towards us, but I did not quite trust him. My fears were justified, when Gruner started to ask us question after question about Chinese pottery. After five or more questions, Watson spoke up. "My wife and I have not come here, sir to be subjected to such a barrage of questions"

"She is not your wife…is she, Doctor Watson?" Watson looked at me, and we both realised that we were in trouble. Gruner pulled, from his waistcoat pocket, a revolver. "Did you really think you could pull the wool over my eyes? I knew who you where as soon as you came in here - and now you are both going to die." He cocked the gun, and was about to shoot Watson, when the door in the adjoining room slammed loudly. Gruner ran through, followed closely by Watson and myself, and there stood Holmes - a little battered and bruised, but otherwise, looking fine. Gruner, however, had the advantage on us. He had a gun, whereas the three of us were distinctly lacking. Gruner smiled at Holmes and sneered "Well, isn't this touching, Holmes. You get up from your bed of pain to come to the aid of your best friend and your sweetheart. How lovely. And now you will die. And I'll shoot you in the head, this time, just to make sure." He pointed the gun at Holmes' head and laughed "I hope you are ready to die."

Holmes looked at me, just for a moment, and closed his eyes, but before Gruner could shoot, Kitty came out of nowhere, with a pan of a water-like liquid. Gruner stared at her, in surprise. "Do you remember me?" Kitty said to Gruner. Gruner laughed, but then seemed to glimpse the pan. He stopped laughing and backed away, toward the fireplace. Meanwhile, Holmes had moved silently over to Watson and myself, and had taken hold of my arm, pulling me away from Gruner, and motioning Watson to follow. We stood, side by side, at one side of the room, watching Kitty in amazement, as she shouted in fury at the Baron. "You ruined my life!" she shouted, "you made sure I could never work again! God knows how many women you have hurt before. But I am not going to let you get away with it…you will be done by as you did!" And she threw the liquid at Gruner.

As soon as the liquid hit him, he cried out in pain, and held his hands to his face. Watson moved to try and help him, but Gruner pushed him away, yelling "No, no" like a man in mortal agony. He fell backwards into a chair, and Holmes took his opportunity. He took Gruner's diary from a lockable compartment in his desk, and slipped it in his coat pocket.

Suddenly, Gruner stood up, and removed his hands from his face, and we all shrunk away from him. It looked like a nightmare, his face melted, and his eyes wild and murderous. I took a step backwards, into Holmes, who steadied me, before yelling to Watson "Run, take Kitty and Beth, and run!"

"But what about you?" I asked, staring at him, in abject fear for his life.

"Don't you dare worry about me. Go!" I nodded, and Watson, Kitty and I ran for the door, which led to the garden. Holmes, meanwhile, left by the opposite door, which led into the house, followed swiftly by Gruner, with his gun. We ran through the garden, but I stopped, when I heard a yell from the house. I was not sure whether it was Holmes or Gruner, but I turned towards the house.

"Beth!" yelled Watson "Where are you going?"

I turned to look at Watson "I have to help him!"

Watson looked straight at me and nodded "Good luck", and ran towards the cab, dragging Kitty along with him.

I ran back to the house, through the study door, and, following the yells, went up through the house, right to the roof. Holmes and Gruner seemed to be involved in some sort of wrestling match, but Holmes pushed the Baron away. They stood there, both standing next to the edge of the roof, where there was a sheer drop down to the patios beneath. They seemed to be engaged in an argument, and did not notice me standing a few metres away. Gruner reached into his pocket, and with a jolt, I realised that he had extracted his gun, and had lowered it at Holmes' heart.

"You killed Moriarty, Holmes," yelled Gruner, manically "But I am a true Napoleon of Crime. I killed my wife and the child, and no one has been able to find a scrap of evidence to prove me guilty. You should have died at Reichenbach, and it was only through good luck that you didn't. No such luck this time."

He cocked the gun, and was about to shoot, when I launched myself at him, my only thoughts for saving Holmes. The force of me throwing myself at him and the momentum I had gained sent Gruner stumbling sideways, sending us both falling of the roof, and plummeting towards the ground…


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer - I do not own any of the Arthur Conan Doyle characters. I do however, own Elisabeth, and I can do what ever I want with her (evil laugh!) 

Thank you all for your wonderful reviews. Shall I put you all out of your misery and resolve the cliff-hanger? (almost literally in this case! Strangely enough it was going to be a cliff in the first draft - but then I remembered that there are no cliffs in the centre of London)

**Chapter 21**

Gruner and I fell down towards the ground. I flailed my arms and managed to get hold of a ledge, about a couple of metres from the top of the wall. I felt a tugging on my ankle, and looked down. Gruner had grabbed hold of me, and we were both hanging metres away from certain death. Despite this, Gruner was grinning, manically. "If I die…" he yelled. I screamed, and Holmes seemed to realise that I was alive. He shouted my name, and I called back "Please Holmes! Help me!" I was absolutely terrified. I've never been particularly good with heights, and my head was spinning. Worse was the fact that the combined weight of myself and Gruner was causing my fingers to start slipping…

Holmes' face appeared over the top of the building, and he reached down, trying to get hold of my hand. He was already hanging rather precariously over the side, one hand on a small wall behind him, and the other reaching toward me. "Beth," he said "You are going to have to let go"

"Holmes…I can't…"

"Beth, do you trust me?"

"Of course I do…but…"

"Let go"

I did so, and Holmes caught my wrist in a vice-like grip. The fall lessened Gruner's grip on me, as well, and he fell to the ground, dead as soon as he hit the path. Holmes pulled me up higher, and took hold of my other hand. He pulled, while I tried to manoeuvre myself upwards, and eventually, I was back up on solid ground. I sat on the floor, shaking like a leaf, and tried in vain to calm down. Holmes, meanwhile, had taken off his coat, and wrapped it around my shoulders. I looked up at him, and smiled gratefully. He came to sit next to me on the floor, and put an arm around me. "It's alright" he said "Gruner's dead. You saved my life."

Feeling a little better, I smiled "Again."

Holmes laughed "Thank heavens I have you with me." He stopped abruptly, his face blushing pink. He shook his head "It's a bit hot up here…"

"Holmes? Are you alright?"

"Fine. I just…" Holmes was looking at me strangely, like he wanted to say something.

"Holmes…?"

"It's nothing. Don't worry." He got up, and offered me his hand, pulling me up to stand next to him. "We had better go back to Watson" he said, and started to walk away.

I don't know what made me do what I did next, but as I looked at Holmes, I realised the meaning of all those surreptitious glances and cut short conversations. The reason why he would look at me in concern, whenever we were off on a dangerous case, or touch my hand or arm if I needed reassurance. "Holmes?" I said, and he turned. I walked over to him, so that I was facing him, and took hold of his hand. Standing on tiptoe, I kissed him, just once, lightly on the lips. As I did so, I felt his hand tighten around mine. He looked at me, straight in the eyes and opened his mouth, as if to say something. He seemed unable to find the words, and instead just stood there, his hand still gripping mine, staring at me. I grinned at him "That's the first time I've ever seen you speechless". He nodded, still seemingly unable to speak, but he did move to put a hand on my waist. We stood there for a moment, completely silent and I started to feel a little awkward "Um, Holmes… Are you actually going to say anything?"

Holmes laughed, and to my surprise, reached up and stroked the side of my face. "Women…so impatient…"

I gasped in mock indignation "I am not impatient!"

"Yes you are, one of the most impatient women I've ever met…"

"Oh, very romantic, Holmes," I said sarcastically "listing all my faults."

"But…"

"But…?" I smiled expectantly, and Holmes grinned "You are also beautiful and kind and clever. Perhaps a little impulsive…"

"Good point. I won't argue with that…"

"But…I…I…" he stumbled over his words, looking more than a little scared.

I decided to help him out "I love you, Holmes."

He smiled "You do?"

"Of course. Why else do you think I put up with you?" I said, innocently.

Holmes laughed "I love you, Elisabeth, my Elisabeth"

I looked into his eyes "I can't think why we took so long…"

"Because you and I both have one thing in common."

"And what's that?"

"We both believed the opposite sex to be completely useless. We just had to be proved wrong."

"Even 'The Woman'?" I asked, teasingly.

"She might have been 'The Woman' but you are 'My Woman'"

"How unbelievably sentimental."

"I'm not very good at this, am I?"

I chuckled "Good enough for me."

He cupped my face in both his hands and said "I have never loved anyone as much as I love you. Will you…" he took a deep breath "marry me?"

I felt tears come to my eyes, and I blinked them away "Of course I will." I sighed, tearful "Oh, no, now I'm the sentimental one…For heavens sake, kiss me, will you?"

Holmes laughed and took his hands from my face, and held both of my hands. He kissed both of my hands, and then kissed my forehead, and then my lips. He was tender, and loving, and I felt as if I could stay there, with him, for all of eternity. After a while, Holmes pulled away, and said "We had better go back to the cab. Watson will be worried about us." I nodded, and we walked away together, down through the house, and out to the cab. Holmes offered me his arm, and I took it, smiling up at him.

We reached the carriage, and Watson stuck his head out of the window "Thank goodness you're back. You had us both terribly worried…" Then, he seemed to see, for the first time, the way we were glancing at each other "Ah," he said, smiling knowingly "I see. Come, we should be getting back to Baker Street." He looked at Holmes "Gruner?"

Holmes helped me into the carriage, and then looked grimly at Watson "He's dead."

"Well, if it were between you and he, old man." He clapped a hand on Holmes' shoulder "and no doubt others feel the same."

"Thank you Watson. But if it had not been for Beth…"

"Come on." I said, not liking to think of what could have been. "We should go. Get Kitty back to Mr Johnson."

I sat next to Kitty, as Holmes took his place next to Watson, and Kitty spoke up, "I suppose they'll find out what I did. But I don't care," she spat, bitterly.

"Kitty, I'm sure they won't. Everyone knows the sort of man he was. Everyone will understand that you did it in self-defence." I was talking to convince myself then, too, a little worried that Holmes and I might be suspected of murder. Holmes leant over and squeezed one of my hands, in encouragement. I smiled up at him, and then tried to think no more about it.

We were not prosecuted for the death of Gruner - everyone realised the kind of man he was, the awful choice that we were faced with. Our mysterious illustrious client was, it seemed, none other than a member of the Royal Family, although Holmes did not tell me which one. I didn't care anyway, as he managed to clear us from any investigations from the police.

Holmes and I were married today, 8th November 1894, in the Church of St Peter's and St Paul's in London. It was a wonderful affair, quiet and low-key, with only Watson, Mrs Hudson, Johnnie, and his new wife Mary present. Unsurprisingly, my aunt and uncle did not take kindly to my marriage to Holmes, even going so far as to disinherit me. But I don't care. I know that my mother and father would have approved of my choice of husband, and that is what matters. I am excited, and more happy than I have ever felt in my life, as I am sure, now that I know where I belong.


	22. Epilogue

Disclaimer - I do not own any of Arthur Conan Doyle's characters. I do however own Elisabeth. 

I just want to say thank you to everyone for the reviews - they are great! I hope you all liked my first fanfic attempt!

**Epilogue**

I laugh now, when I read back on those words. I was so young, so carefree, and yet when I look at my face in the mirror, all these years older, I still see the spirit of the younger me. I am eighty-six now, and am nearing the end of my life. I know it. I am growing tired and feeble, and my bones are not as strong as they used to be. My darling Holmes died three years ago, but we had near sixty wonderful years together. I am looking forward to seeing him again.

I have been blessed with a wonderful husband, wonderful friends, and wonderful children. We had four children; Ralph, Lydia, Dinah and John. In each of them we saw parts of ourselves - John is blessed with Sherlock's quick mind and intellect, Lydia with his gift for the violin, Dinah with my love of riding and of horses, and Ralph…

I cannot say that our lives were completely without hardship. When you reach the old age which we reach, you must expect to lose people that you love. Watson, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson are all gone, but our worst loss was Ralph. He was only a young man, when he joined up to fight in the Great war. He was killed on the First Day of the Battle of the Somme, when his platoon was given the order to go 'over the top'. What a waste of life. And yet I am still proud of him. He managed to save a whole regiment of his friends before he died, and was awarded the Victoria Cross. I do not like to talk of his loss…to this day, the only one that I shared my innermost feelings with was Holmes.

John has carried on his father's work, as a private detective, sometimes asking my help and advice, and finding my mind as sharp as ever. Dinah and Lydia both married wonderful men - men just like my Holmes, who didn't care that they were headstrong and poor, but instead loved them because they were unique. They also gave us grandchildren, who Holmes and I both took great delight in, and were able to spoil rotten!

Holmes, Watson and I carried on with detective work after Holmes and I married, although I did decide to make my own career for myself, training at the London School of Medicine for Women, to become a doctor, and then after working in a hospital during the Great War, becoming a Professor at the school. Holmes was never anything less than supportive of me, taking care of the children when my work made me absent for long periods of time. He was the best husband a woman could ever wish for, and despite the fact that both of us were somewhat stoic in our professions of love for one another, I knew that he loved me, and I loved him.

Watson was a wonderful friend to us for all his days, he also taking a turn in looking after the children, helping me study for my exams and being a kind and supportive friend to Holmes, no matter what his mood or concern. We all worked together until the end of his life five years ago, despite the fact we were all old, and past our best. Thank heavens that we had John, Dinah and Lydia to do the leg work for us!

I confess myself so tired now…so ready to sleep. I feel a strange happiness and joy in my soul, as if I am going home. Is that not strange? I hope, dear reader that you have enjoyed reading of the wonderfully happy life I have led. A life with no regrets. I wish the same for you.

With kind regards,

Doctor Elisabeth Holmes

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**Obituaries**

**Doctor Elisabeth Jane Holmes (nee Hardy) M.D.  
1870-1956**

**Wife of renowned detective Sherlock Holmes (1864-1953), Doctor of Medicine and Professor of Surgery at the London School of Medicine for Women. Dr. Holmes was praised today as one of the foremost female doctors of her generation, aiding wounded troops at London hospitals during the Great War. Dr. Holmes was also recognised for her work alongside her husband, in the solving of crimes which baffled the police force of Scotland Yard, and brought her husband, Dr. Holmes and their friend and associate Dr. John Watson international acclaim. Dr. Holmes was also the mother of four children; the late Ralph Holmes V.C., Lydia Simmons, Dinah Holmes-Sinclair and John Holmes. **

**Dr. Holmes died in her sleep this morning. She was eighty-six. The sympathy of the readership and undoubtedly all of Great Britain is with Dr. Holmes' surviving family.**

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